


Caught Dead

by redphlox



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Gen, Holes au, Resbang 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 21:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redphlox/pseuds/redphlox
Summary: When Maka Albarn takes the fall for a friend’s crime, she is sentenced to Shibusen Juvenile Detention Center in Death City, Nevada. It’s almost bearable thanks to a frustrating - and cute - camper who helps her dig holes under the hot sun. Despite Soul Evans’s reluctance to open up about himself or his past, the two soon bond over investigating the disappearances in Death City a hundred years ago and sneaking out to see each other past curfew. But, it turns out Shibusen’s intentions are far from pure. Will Soul and Maka be able to combat the other rowdy campers, the desert sun, and the cruel warden to discover the secret behind all those holes? HOLES AU. SoulxMaka. WesxTsubaki





	1. ghosts aren't real

**Author's Note:**

> Holes AU is finally here! Please head over to Tumblr and view the art that Addie drew for this piece, and also listen to the playlist MacabreMermaid put together! They are wonderful partners and I absolutely loved working with them. Please drop some love on their talented work! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

 

**Caught Dead** by _redphlox_

 

There's nothing in Death City but misery and heat. Soul often daydreams about wandering into the endless desert to sleep until he’s another half-buried skeleton in the dirt, but that’s a lost cause. He’s tethered to this place by a promise to _stay_ , even if it’s led him to this dazed moment: reeling from a punch, wiping blood from his lip.

 

“C’mon, hit me back,” Jackie hisses under her breath, eyes wide with guilt and panic as the reality of what she’s done sinks in.

 

There is no going back now. All he can do is stare down at the streak of inky blood on his dust-powdered fingers. He licks at his lips in hopes to surreptitiously clean the rest off, but the taste of overpowering iron swirls around in his mouth. Gulping doesn’t stop the incoming bout of hysteria from tying his stomach into knots. Damnit, his and Jackie’s deal hadn’t included _blood_. His vision tunnels, the arid, cracked ground and overly bright light no longer the biggest of his worries.

 

“ _Soul_ , snap out of it, hit me!” Jackie's voice comes out more of a screeching plea than a command. As nosey campers drop their shovels and hurry over to scope out the latest fight, Jackie picks hers up, a new determination stretched over her face. She edges toward him like a snake preparing to bite. “Fight me!”

 

Except Soul can't move, can't say that his stage fright now extends to this show they're putting on for the sake of extending their sentences. Never would he have thought he’d find himself looking for trouble so that he wouldn’t be released and sent _home_ , but… here he is, desperate.

 

Jackie hisses his name as a warning before raising her shovel like a baseball bat. It happens so fast, Soul doesn’t have time to think. The second he’s distracted by a distant puff of dust smoke whirling around an incoming bus, Jackie jumps the distance between them, shovel colliding with his shoulder. Lightning-like pain shoots up his arm from his elbow where it strikes the dirt. She looms over him, her shadow a cursed reprieve from the sun.

 

“ _Sorry_ ,” she mouths, wincing, raising her shovel over her head.  

 

X

 

Maka lost her softness when her mama disappeared.

 

It didn’t leave overnight, even if her mama did. It left in pieces, in such a silent, gentle way that she doesn’t notice until her papa bursts out sobbing when the judge brings down both his hammer and judgment. Maka Albarn will spend a whole year at Shibusen digging holes to think about what she’s done. Three-hundred sixty-five days of her life taken away from her, derailing her future, smudging her squeaky clean record, and all that she can think about is that she’s _glad_ for the distance, even if she didn’t commit the crime.

 

Next to her papa, Blake flashes a supportive grin at her, though the corners of his mouth fall prematurely.

 

“We’ll file an appeal,” her papa sniffles when they’re saying goodbye after the trial. Maka allows him to wipe his nose on her orange jumpsuit and resists rolling her eyes when he bearhugs her, still inconsolable.

 

“It’s fine,” she lies, patting his shoulders. “Maybe I’ll learn some responsibility.”

 

“But it’s a mistake! My perfect little angel never does anything wrong!”

 

“Yeah,” Blake whispers behind Spirit Albarn, hands dug into the pockets of his blazer. The formal getup reminds Maka of funeral attire, not an outfit one would wear to an important law proceeding. Maybe there’s not a difference. “Breaking and entering… sounds like something _I_ would do.”

 

The two blink at each other, knowingly.

 

Then it’s time to go. The pair trail after her as she’s handcuffed and escorted onto a dingy, mud-plastered bus. She pauses at the top of the steps, voice suddenly missing as she takes in her papa’s quivering shoulders and puffy eyes. A stab of melancholy passes through her: this must be deja vu for him, losing someone _again_...

 

Though Maka sees no visible signs of regret, Blake’s muted tone is enough. “See ya later, Maks…”

 

“Bye, Angel,” her papa coos, wiggling his fingers at her… just like mama did before she disappeared.

 

It’s even around the same time of the day too, with the same weather conditions: bright, sunny, with no signs of clouds or of the impending heartbreak looming around the corner. Mama had driven Maka to school that morning and blew a kiss to her before driving off. In retrospect, Maka wishes she would have begged to go with her to work, or at least caught the kiss and held on to it, but she was only six and too trusting, too optimistic.

 

Maybe the sudden absence would have hurt Maka less if she had been younger and couldn't understand custody agreements, but she's always been too alert and intelligent for her own good. Weekends belonged to her papa, and weekdays to her mama. It was a Tuesday, which meant Maka had a whole week left to enjoy with her mama, so alarms rang in Maka’s head when evening came and she was the only kindergartener left waiting for their parent after school. No one had to explain that her mama's tardiness translated into permanent absence. When a frazzled Papa arrived instead and picked her up, Maka couldn't help but to feel... forsaken.

 

Now, all she wants is to be left _alone_. For now. A hidden blessing in this messed up situation is that the space and time away from her no-good, overbearing, lying Papa will be good. She does catch the kiss he blows to her as the bus rolls away, though. Just in case. After all, there’s no harm or admittance of emotional attachment on her part: he didn’t see, and she can let go at any time.

 

X

 

A disturbed cackle thunders through the still, hot air. “Kill him, Jackie!”

 

Liz Thompson grins like a Cheshire cat, wicked and entertained. “Easy there, Patti, it’s fun to play with them a little first.”

 

Jackie wavers, arms trembling, but whether it’s from the weight of her shovel or the gravity of their situation, Soul isn’t sure. What’s shameful is that he flinches when she shifts, bracing himself for what will be more colorful bruises and possibly blood, but she turns the shovel and pokes him with the handle.

 

“Like this, Patti?” she laughs over her shoulder, the three girls shouting with malevolent laughter.

 

Soul takes advantage of the momentary distraction to kick Jackie’s legs out from under her, as gently as possible. She falls with a surprised, “ _Eee!”_ that morphs to an annoyed and insulted “UGH!” as he gains the upper hand, _tsk_ -ing.

 

“Don’t test me, Jackie. We might be friends but don’t. Try. Me.”

 

She lets out a growl, cheeks pink with amusement either at his empty threat or because he actually started fighting back. But the other campers gasp at his words, and Soul catches a glimpse of Kilik shaking his head at the familiar scene of violence on the campground. In the distance, the cloud at the bus’s wheels tapers off, like the yellow eyesore is slowing down. Not that it’s Soul’s problem -- he’s on his butt again, under a hail of Jackie’s fists.

 

The Thompson sisters howl wildly. Kilik makes no move to stop the fighting, instead pinching his nose in exasperation before wandering back to his hole on the other side of camp. The wrestling-ring of campers flees once Soul stops blocking her punches and begins coughing. When Ox runs off, threatening to tattletale, the remaining onlookers run away, everyone avoiding trouble.

 

“You can _stop_ , they’re gone--”

 

Jackie’s stronger than her lithe frame reveals, shoving him down when he tries to stand up. “We have to keep fighting until the Warden comes out here and stops us herself. I _can’t_ leave this place, I won’t!” She grabs him by the collar. “Don't you get it? If I get out of here, I have to go _home,_ and that's worse than getting a god forsaken sunburn here everyday!”

 

“I get it, but stop shaking me--”

 

“No! NO!” Her eyes shine with unshed tears. The show of vulnerability touches him, and he almost excuses the concussion she's giving him. “Listen to me Soul, we're staying here!”

 

“Calm down, I get it, I'm--”

 

“I CAN'T LEAVE, I CAN'T LEAVE!”

 

He snaps. Pinning her down is the easiest thing in the world when she's caught off guard, but he knows he's in trouble when her brows furrow dangerously. Again, the world is a whirl of color and shapes as she slams him into the ground, his joints aching. Jackie moves faster than a hummingbird’s wings, grappling for the shovel, swinging it back and stabbing it down--

 

And then his arm glints in the desert sun, flesh replaced with metal that clanks as it meets the shovel, stopping it mid-strike. Instead of a forearm and a hand and fingers, a razor-sharp _scythe_ extends from his elbow. The blade doubles as a mirror; in it, Jackie’s eyes betray her horror as she falls to her knees. It’s worse when he manages to regain his human limb and muster up the courage to meet her gaze.

 

She's _petrified_. “ _God_ , Soul, that's freaky…”

 

He sputters, forming syllables but not coherent sentences. Shanking him in the back would have stung less.

 

Suddenly, the bus veers off the road, heading straight for them, veering right to avoid a hole. It slides to a stop a thousand feet away, and a burly man hops off -- the one Soul has briefly spied wandering around the campground after curfew. The man with half a missing eyebrow and a black marble wedged in his eye socket. “What's going on here?”  
  
“Hey!” another voice bellows, much higher and somehow scarier. All Soul catches sight of are pigtails flying out of the bus and at him in a storm of indignation and self-righteousness. “Don't push her, you bully!”  


Next thing he knows, Soul is seeing stars, his skull vibrating and throbbing in agony, the side of his face burning. Looking up at her is no use -- everything’s in vivid technicolor, her face eclipsed by the sun. But he doesn’t need sight to know the color of his blood when he swipes at his nose. It’s always been wrong, always will be.

 

The girl pauses, crouching down next to him, her voice barely a whisper. “...Black blood?”

 

X

 

The detention center resembles a summer camp more than it does a prison. No barbed wire fence lines its borders, no enormous search lights beam down on the dorms. It’s open land, Death City proper actually an hour away down the road -- not that anyone lives there. Maka remembers the green sign that welcomed her as she leaned her head on the rickety bus window:

 

Death City

Population: 55

 

And they're probably all in the detention center.

 

Sitting here in the heavily air-conditioned office that Maka suspects is a five-star hotel compared to the campers’ facilities, she actually misses her bed, her home, coming back from school to find her papa cooking...

  
A woman sails into the room, plopping down behind the gaudy desk. “Miss Barn--”  
  
“ _Al_ barn,” Maka corrects, crossing her ankles in her chair, hands folded in her lap, back ironed into a straight line. Shoulders back. Chin up. No one intimidates her, not even the warden, with her witch-like blood-colored hair or long sharp nails. “It's _Al_ barn.”  
  
Shaula Gorgon offers a sweet smile, the sadistic kind that someone would give right before pulling the trigger on their lifelong best friend. “Okay then, Maka, I'll get right to the point. Here at Camp Shibusen, we don't tolerate violence.”  
  
Sometimes Maka doesn't think before she acts, and it never bodes well. “Then you should have been supervising the campers and stopped that bully before I had to step in.”  
  
“As a matter of fact, I was on my way over there to break those two apart with my bare hands. I see _everything_ that goes on around here.”  
  
“Oh,” Maka breathes, feeling like a balloon that's been popped by a needle.  
  
“Soul is in the wrong for entertaining Jackie’s antics, of course, and so are you.” Shaula smirks, tapping her nails on the notepad. “Because of your actions, I’ll add three more months to your sentence.”

 

Maka’s face practically falls on the floor, her stomach dropping to her toes. The shock must throw her into a delusional state because she can shake neither the mental image nor the sensation of a snake wrapping itself around her ankles, crawling its way up her body, aiming for her neck. Locking eyes with Shaula only intensifies the feeling, the woman’s canines unusually pointy -- how had Maka not noticed before? She pats Maka on the head on the way out, cutting off the terrible hallucination. “Don’t tell me how to run my facility again.”

 

X

 

“Did I get anything on, uh, my clothes?” Soul pulls on the front of his jumpsuit, scanning the khaki for any unusual smudges. “I don’t see anything, do you?”

 

Jackie, pale and slightly shaky, wrings her hands and barely manages to nod. “...Think you’re ok, yeah. Um… even if you were still bleeding, it’s fine? That’s why we’re going to the clinic…”

 

So she _hadn’t_ noticed his weird blood, only his abnormal ability to shapeshift. Great, at least one good thing came out of that fiasco besides luring the warden out of her ice house to pull them by the ear and verbally tear them a new one. Six more months for each of them, Shaula had said, scowling. Instead of basking in his triumph, Soul had bitten down an ugly ball of unknown terror at locking eyes with Shaula Gorgon and torn himself away to seek medical attention. Doing so isn't such a great idea, what with the tension mounting between him and an uncharacteristically speechless Jackie, and the fact that the facility doctor is a creepy nutjob missing a few crucial screws.

 

Soul and Jackie turn the corner into the empty infirmary hall and head to Dr. Stein’s office. Knocking on the door causes it to creak open, revealing the room inside to be darker than the night and far more unknown. The two stand there, numb, in silence disturbed only by the occasional shout or sounds of footfalls outside traveling through the walls.

 

Jackie turns to face him for the first time since that new girl broke up the fight. She motions to her face. “How do my brows look?”

 

He nods his approval, careful to act normal, like she didn't hit a nerve by calling him a freak. “Like perfection.”

 

“Good.” She grins hesitantly, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “For a second there I thought you cut my face, my _brows_ , and I almost lost it.”

 

“You mean… You freaking out like that _wasn’t_ losing it?”

 

She shoves him into the bookcase, first chuckling, then apologizing a mile a minute when he rubs his shoulder. “Sorry! Gah -- I’m stronger than I realize. My bad.” He finds himself being led into a examination room, directed to sit on the table. “I’ll be right back,” she says before popping out of the door again.

 

Soul sighs, swinging his legs, hitting the heel of his boot against the metal frame. It reminds him of the second day of kindergarten, when he had been hanging out on the swing, kicking his feet in the air in an attempt to gain momentum. The stress and effort had triggered his lower limb to morph into a polished, hook-handled _knife_. Later, his father would enlighten him about the Evans family curse: uncontrollable _weapon_ powers and blood as black as the abyss, brought on by a deal with a witch generations ago. It had sounded like something out of a fantasy children’s book. To Soul, the watered-down explanation had lacked splendor and solace in the face of his classmates’ ridicule and pestering.

 

It still does.

 

“Some lethal weapon,” Soul mutters to himself now, squinting at his hands with derision. “First an imaginary demon beats me up every day, and now I can’t even win a fake fight…”

 

He can't do _anything_ right, according to his father. Soul's fingers are too heavy on the piano keys, his shoulders too rounded at dinner, his chin too lowered in public, his grades not high enough, his presence not _memorab_ le enough. And his attitude? Atrocious. Where Soul Evans lacks, he makes up for by being too much. Too weird. Too sarcastic. Too quiet. Too _lazy_.

 

But at Shibusen -- well, here he's like an unsettling painting, something dark and unusual to look at but not for too long, because the other art exhibits are much more pleasant. His childhood reputation for spontaneously combusting into a scythe didn't follow him here, thank goodness, so at least he's not miserable. And he's grown into his abilities a little, though high emotional situations still trigger unwanted transformations. He's at point where no _huma_ n is bullying him at least, and that's bearable.

 

Except… If Jackie runs her mouth…

 

“Speak of the devil,” he says as she materializes with an ice pack, wet and dry towels, and a first aid kit.

 

“I appear when I'm summoned,” is her sing songy reply. She holds his face in place by gripping the back of his head, wiping an alcohol pad over his lip roughly. “I feel so bad for beating the emo out of you. Felt like kicking a baby.”

 

 “Yeah, well…” He takes a chance, catching her wrist to gain her undivided attention. “You don't have to be nice to me, Jackie. Don't make this awkward or pity me. Just -- act normal, you didn't see _anything_.”

 

The brief look of rejection she gives him hurts more than all the taunting he endured as a kid. She recovers quicker than he does, though, blinking her emotions away and putting on a poker face. “I’m pretty sure I just saw your arm turn into metal. Why haven’t you ever told me?”

 

Soul snatches the towel out of her hands more forcefully than he had intended. Maybe if he rubs his lips raw he won’t have to answer her. “Because it didn’t happen, and it doesn’t matter.”

 

“You’re not normal, are you? I mean, everyone thinks so because of your eyes and hair, but -- _oh,_ that’s how you dig holes so fast, isn’t it? You’ve been holding out on me.”

 

He clenches his jaw, ashamed of himself for trusting her for the past eight months he's been at Shibusen. So, she thinks he's a _freak_ too… fine, then. He'll bring his walls up. Pushing away the first friend he’s made isn’t his best idea, but preserving his secret, his _dignity_ , comes first. “Shut up, Jackie. If you bring this up again, I’ll test the scythe out on you.”

 

Jackie isn’t the type of person to break down into tears and drown in a pool of pity. No, she’s layers upon layers of steel and absolute savagery. Her exasperated scoff echoes around the room as she crosses her arms, unimpressed with his threat but clearly aware she crossed a line. “Mhm, _sure_ , I bet you can’t even control those powers. It's not big deal, though, I'll forget about it.”

 

_Ouch._ Is his uselessness so _obvious_? It’s his turn to lapse into dumbstruck muteness. An eye for an eye, he guesses: he shut her down, and she shut him up. In their newfound silence, Jackie reaches into her jumpsuit pocket and extends a rock to him, probably as a peace offering since neither of them know how to apologize using words. The fragmented outline of a baby snake decorates the dusty surface, the creature curled into a perfect, hypnotizing circle.

 

“I found this cool thingy when I was digging my hole today. Want it?”

 

Accepting it would complete their unspoken truce. Life would go back to normal: roasting each other, muttering sarcastic, pessimistic commentary about the food in the cafeteria, and exchanging glances when they overhear a particularly stupid conversation. That’s all Soul ever wanted in grade school -- a friend, someone who had his back no matter what he looks like, despite all his oddities. But he waves the rock away, shaking his head.

 

Jackie drops it back into her pocket, confused and thrown off, the ensuing moment clumsy and too quiet. Wheels rolling their way from the hallway provide a welcomed interruption, the door slamming open to reveal a man riding a rolly chair, slumped over the back support and lazily puffing on a cigarette. The glare of the overhead light bounces off his glasses. “Are you here for the scalpel treatment?”

 

“No…” Soul wants nothing more than to get out of here ASAP. “To get my face checked out, I guess.”

 

“That's irreparably damaged,” Dr. Stein sighs as though he's giving condolences. “I can't treat that, but I can give you a face transplant.”

 

The uneven stitches transversing the doctor's chin and forehead don't inspire confidence. Neither do his tattered white lab coat nor the nail sticking out of his hair like he'd been hammered through the skull. Soul edges toward the door, mumbling incoherently about feeling fine now and returning to dig his hole, Jackie following him like a shadow.

 

Dr. Stein blows smoke in their direction, removing his glasses and squinting at Soul. “You have... ink on your collar.”

 

Soul curses mentally, the man's interest too piqued for his liking, his raised brows too _knowing_. Rumor amongst the campers slash prisoners has it that Stein isn't even a doctor but a scientist gone mad, and now that Soul has met him in person, the notion isn't too far-fetched.

 

Maybe Stein senses something inherently off about Soul because he asks, “What happened?”

 

“A shovel accident,” Jackie replies, placing her hands on a stupified Soul's shoulder to guide him into the hallway.

 

“Hmm...”

 

“Crap,” Jackie whispers when the doctor rolls after them seconds later.

 

“You'll be fine,” he calls to Soul. “If you're not, I'll use your cadaver to do research on why you didn't make it, and you have your choice on what kind of piñata you want to be made into.”

 

Soul and Jackie grimace at each other.

 

Stein rolls back into the room, expressionless as he throws a peace sign at them.

 

X

 

Hours later, Maka hears the shovel shed door open as the sky bleeds a blue ombre overhead. The colors signal the transition from day to night and cast a mystical hue on the boy's white hair, the one she decked with her right hook earlier. He looks different in this light, but she can't quite tell _how_.

 

So she stares.

 

He stares back, cool and calm. “Need help?”  
  
Maka brings the shovel down into the earth harder than necessary. “No, leave me alone.”

 

Whistling, he closes the distance between them in a few short steps. “Looks like you got a sunburn. If you dig faster you can find shade in your hole.”  
  
“I don't need your help,” she snaps, not in any mood to make small talk or friends, not with fresh blisters on her hands, blood crusted under her nails and in her ears, and sweat stains under her armpits. A year and three months here literally sounds like hell. “Thanks to you, I have to stay in this godforsaken dump longer!”  
  
The boy leans a shoulder on the tin wall, arms crossed, crooked smile quickening her pulse. “You wanted to help me.”  
  
Maka's mutinous cheeks redden for some reason. “No way!”  
  
“Yeah you did. Because you're the nosy type, aren't you?” His winks at her, cocky and condescending. “Let me guess… Teacher's pet? Hallway monitor? A miss goody two shoes with straight A’s and goes home and cries to her mommy when things don’t go her way?”  
  
She practically breathes fire through her nostrils as she draws herself up to her full height -- five feet two inches, yes -- pulls him down by the collar, and gets dangerously close to his face. “There's nothing wrong with wanting everyone to get along, or following the rules, okay? What are you even _doing_ here, anyway? Are you following me?”  
  
All the bravado in his eyes drains to surprise. It's not until he lets out a gasp that Maka realizes how close their noses are, how his eyes are colored a shade of ruby she had mistook for brown. Before she can analyze the thought, though, he regains his composure and gently removes her hand from his shirt, brushing himself off as if she'd contaminated him. “Whatever. You won't be saying that when you're breaking up four fights a day and trying not to get eaten by rattlesnakes at the same time.”  
  
“I can’t NOT do anything when people are being hurt!” Then her brain catches up and processes the rest of his statement. “Snakes?”  
  
He rolls his eyes as if the mere mention of them heightens his annoyance. “Yeah, they're everywhere. This kid got bit in the booty while he was on the toilet taking a shi-”  
  
“That's not funny.”  
  
“Then why are you giggling?” He laughs too, his grin a vivid one that lights up his face and brings out a dimple.  
  
Maka rubs her hands together to wipe off the grime, forcing a frown. “Because you're such a bad liar.”  
  
“I'm dead serious. Ox got bit and he had to be helicoptered to the hospital. It was the left cheek, I swear to God. Stein wrote the report when he got back from vacation and the warden got mad because he wrote the whole thing backwards. Every letter of it.”  
  
Standing there with specks of dirt in her eyelashes and her pigtails half pulled out isn't how she imagined spending the first evening at the detention center, but it's not too bad. Even this boy isn't as bad as she originally thought, taking her shovel and putting it away without Maka having to ask for help.

 

“Thanks!” Suddenly she’s not as reluctant to open up, even though she wanted to be alone a few hours earlier. “I didn't exactly get an orientation.”

 

He snorts, says she dodged a bullet. “Free isn't exactly the most eloquent tour guide. He shouldn’t even be driving, I would bet my ration of water that he doesn’t have a license. But anyway, the alarms wake us up every morning at four thirty to eat breakfast. We're supposed to be out digging at five.” He points east, to the area she walked in from. “And if you value your life, try to be done by the time the sun comes up.” 

 

Maka crinkles her nose. “Why _holes?_ Why does the warden make us dig _holes?”_

 

He shrugs. “Nothing else do to out here as a punishment, anyway. Besides ghost hunt,” Soul yawns, throwing his hands over his head, stretching.  
  
“Ghosts aren’t real,” is Maka’s smarty-pants retort. She cringes inwardly at her know-it-all attitude, but then wills herself not to feel guilty for defending herself. “You’re just trying to scare me.”  
  
“Not everything's about you, Pigtails.” He mimics her hairstyle by putting his wrists on his head and flapping his hands around. “It's the truth. There's a reason they call it Death City.”  
  
Maka's hands immediately dart to her hair as if he had just physically tugged it. Though she's searching him over for something to use against him, words fail her, and not because he's a mystery she’d like to solve. It's just… She doesn't know, something about the shadows falling on his features, making him unreadable. She sticks her tongue out at him, contorting her face like she's smelled something rancid.  
  
“Anyway, we're even now,” he goes on, visibly pleased with himself for getting on her nerves. “You saved me, I saved you.”  
  
“Hmmph! And what did you save me from?”  
  
When he laughs, his teeth glint in the light. “From the certain death waiting for you here. It’s every person for themselves at Shibusen. Don’t forget that.”

 

It’s not a lie -- the circle of campers around him and that girl fighting earlier did nothing to mediate the fight. They would have watched the two pummel each other into raisins if she hadn’t stepped in. “Let me guess… you're giving me pointers to survive Shibusen because I broke up the fight you were in?”  
  
“Definitely. She was gonna kick my ass.”  
  
“Then I regret my choices.” Maka turns on her heel -- only to realize she can’t stomp off. She has no clue where to even _go_. No one had given her a map or instructions besides to dig, dig, _dig_ , and report any findings to the warden.  
  
“You should, since you ended up in here.” The boy pushes himself off the wall and stands in front of her, carefree. “What'd you do, jaywalk?”  
  
“Hmph! I didn't do anything, for your information.” How many times does she have to say this? “I’m innocent!”  
  
He raises one skeptical, challenging brow. “That's why you're here at ‘Camp’ Shibusen, where all the model teenagers of society gather?”  
  
“Bad luck, I guess,” she grumbles, not in the mood for his jokes anymore, and heads off toward the largest building, the one that looks like it might be the dormitories. He follows like a puppy, yapping more advice, like _don’t go wandering around at night, don’t try to run away because there’s nothing around for hundred of miles, don’t piss off the warden, always carry your canteen with you_ , and “Watch out for Liz and Patti. They like to prank.”  
  
Maka blinks up at him, trying to find signs that he’s lying or playing a trick on her. “What about you? What's your deal?”  
  
His reply is automatic: “I like to be alone. And I don’t like rumors going around about me. I like digging my hole and minding my own business. No skin off my bones… or should I say, _blood_.”

Oh! So that's the real reason for going out of his way. To threaten her. She bites her bottom lip before opening her mouth, ready to blow a fuse and defend her honor.  
  
“Don't,” he interrupts, shaking his head. Of course Maka doesn't know him well enough to say, but it comes off as more a plea than a request. He's...vulnerable. For a split second, raw emotion takes over. Fear gleams in his eyes, and Maka wishes he would close them -- she _hates_ to see people suffer.  
  
“Okay,” she promises, calmer. “I won't bring it up again…”  
  
“It’s just… A trick of light. It’s red.”  
  
“Sure, yeah.”  
  
He coughs a little to clear his throat, and they both pretend he's not fighting off a spectrum of embarrassment and ill ease. Maka looks the other way, undoing her pigtails and taking her time redoing them. When she’s tightening them, he walks away without a goodbye, which stings more than it should. Insanity is thinking, for a split second, that he purposely waited for her to show her the ropes, maybe befriend her. But people are selfish, and this stranger isn't better than the general public. He came to warn her: keep his secret, or else.

 


	2. acquainting myself with the snakes

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa doesn't believe in love at first sight, but she does believe in _koi no yokan_ : the feeling upon first meeting someone that you’re bound to fall in love with them.

 

The only problem is, she's never exactly met him before, only seen him from afar.

 

“I absolutely abhor no one more than I do that man,” her brother Masamune grumbles from behind her. Usually she peeps longingly out the storefront window by herself, but the men chattering across the street on the steps to the bank have drawn Masamune’s attention, too. From the corner of her eye, she watches him stare daggers at one man in particular, the same one she can’t stop admiring. Apparently it's in their blood to feel drawn to this person because she noticed him the second he rode into town, too.

 

“I absolutely _hate_ him.” Masamune lets out a shaky breath, as though trying to let out steam. “He’s too… happy. He’s disgusting.”

 

The tall young man dressed in a blue vest and matching slacks, his long sleeved button up rolled up casually to his elbows -- _ahh_ , he’s the one. The sight of him sends tingles to Tsubaki’s toes. Butterflies to her stomach. Wishing she could see his smile up close has become a daily ritual each morning. She’s never been one to swoon or daydream about holding hands with a boy, but lately she’s been absolutely giddy at the prospect of introducing herself.

 

Masamune, however, redirects his contempt to her. “Dear sister, tell me _he’s_ not the one you’ve been writing love letters to.”

 

Tsubaki covers her mouth, her cheeks hot. “He’s quite a beautiful soul. I’ve been watching him from the window. He plays with the children, and he’s funding the construction of the new homes on Crescent Street. The mayor says that with his help, the homes will be finished in a few months, maybe even before Christmas. Can you imagine those people ringing in 1920 in their new homes?”

 

Her brother scowls as though he swallowed a sour fruit. “Pfft, what do _you_ know about _souls?_ He’s an arrogant, pompous, obnoxious--”

 

“Intelligent, ambitious, friendly--”

 

“Know-it-all, with nothing but money to throw around while others go without food for days in this forsaken town--”

 

“Wonderful, sweet, _handsome-_ -”

 

“Wes Evans, a pleasure to meet you,” someone chimes from the doorway. Tsubaki forgets how to breathe at the sound of his voice. A quick glance out the window confirms he’s no longer outside. Every nerve in Tsubaki’s body burns as the newcomer saunters toward them. She could melt on this very spot -- exactly how much of the conversation did he _hear?_

 

Masamune lets his disdain be known by groaning and ignoring the man’s extended hand. “My name is Masamune, owner of this flower shop. How may I be of service?”

 

Up close, Wes’s eyes are a honey brown, eagerly scanning the colorful succulents sitting on the shelves. “What a lovely establishment. We need more beauty out here, I’ve grown tired of staring at shrubs and dirt. I’m not sure how you keep these flowers alive out here, you must work magic!”

 

“You don’t know how right you are...”

 

But Wes Evans doesn’t seem to hear Masamune’s scorn. By then, Wes sees Tsubaki for the first time, and he can’t look away.

 

X

 

A snake slithers into his dream this time, and he startles awake before it bites. It might as well have, though, because the sensation of it curling around his neck won't leave him alone and sends him running to the bathroom, absolutely _sick_.

 

Figures. Soul’s first memory is actually a nightmare: an invisible force yanking him off the bed by the ankle in the middle of the night. He had limped for days, but the physical injury couldn’t compare to the mental terror the event had generated. At only four, he had been incapable of understanding the difference between reality and the mini movies that played behind his eyelids as he slept, so life become a never ending nightmare for a good two years after that night. No matter what his mother said, it didn’t make sense -- if it was only a dream, then why were there three scratches on his calf?

 

It wasn’t until he was eight that he understood _why_ the glass ornaments on the Christmas tree fell in a hail when he walked by, why the big headed red demon from his dreams appeared during the day, too.

 

“It’s the family curse, it’s getting stronger,” Soul’s father had confided in frantic whispers to his wife. Soul was supposed to be in bed, but Oni kept pinching Soul's nose shut, ordering him to die, so he came looking for comfort and walked in on this conversation in the parlor instead. “There must be something… _off_ about him…”

 

“Are you absolutely sure the curse is real? How cursed could we be if our lives are like _this_?” Soul's mother motions around at the imported furniture, the expensive paintings hanging on the walls.

 

“It's old money my family had before the curse. There is more to this life than worldly possessions.”

 

For years after, Soul couldn’t understand. He thought the weapon form and black blood was the curse, so how did the nightmares play into it?

 

But now that he’s kneeling in front of a public toilet at Shibusen Detention Center for Juveniles, his guts clenching with every heave, he thinks he understands what his father meant: peace of mind.

 

X

 

Maka glances up from her soggy french toast and catches _him_ staring at her. She’s perched at the table in front of his, unintentionally listening in on his conversation with Jackie, who finally turns around, scolding, “Who do you keep looking at?”

 

“ _Shhh_ , Jackie...”

 

To be fair, Maka has been watching him all morning, too, and does so even on the campground. He finishes digging his holes in an hour, which is a source of envy for the other campers. Accusations of cheating stand unfounded -- how can someone take a shortcut with _this_? She keeps to herself, silently jealous when the last camper walks away and leaves her to survive out there all alone.

 

During the hottest part of the day, _he_ shows up, thick hair held back by a sweatband with the word SOUL patched onto it crookedly. “Hey, Pigtails.”

 

She growls in greeting. The skin on her neck _burns_ , she’s thirsty, exhausted, irritated, and not in the mood to outwit him or put up with his teasing.

 

His low voice is a tantalizing combination of mellow and _annoying_. “Done yet?”

 

Maka snaps her head in his direction so hard her braided pigtails slap her in the face. “Does it _look_ like I’m done? I’m not even halfway!”

 

He lets out a whistle. “The sun really _does_ make people hot under the collar.”

 

This throws her and her ire off guard. “Huh? Just -- whatever, did you know that sweat burns when it goes into your eyes?” When this earns her an unexpected grin, she goes on, “Guess that’s why you're wearing that headband. Bet you stitched the logo on yourself...”

 

“I sure did.” And he's proud of it, too. “I took the home economics class they have here.”

 

Her eyes widen. “Classes?”

 

“Yeah. Ah… Right, you didn’t get all the info because you decided to play hero.” He ignores her indignant squeal and counts the classes in his fingers as he names them. “Computer technology, home economics, money management, health classes…”

 

It's all too good to be true for Maka. “That's _amazing_ , wow, those are actual _classes_ we can take?”

 

“Yep. They're kind of new. Ever since the Juvenile prison reform act passed, the warden was forced to hire a psychologist, so Dr. Mjolnir is the one who came up with this stuff.” Here he pauses to roll his eyes. “Y’know, so when we get out of here we can be productive, respectable members of the community.”

 

She’s still awestruck, barely aware that the shovel slips through her fingers until it clanks against the ground. “ _Classes_? We can take _classes_ here?”

 

He screws his face up, repulsed. “Oh _God_ , you’re not only a parrot, you're a _nerd_ , aren’t you?” Pinching his nose in exacerbation, he adds, “She does talk therapy, too, since that's her speciality…”

 

Perfect, that’s what Maka needs, actually. Maybe coming to Shibusen isn’t the worst thing to happen to her since her mama disappeared. “How do I sign up?”

 

“Well, you have to finish your hole before noon.” Amusement creeps up in his tone as he recalls the memory. “I heard that the psychologist and the warden got into it about that actually, something about torture, but…” the boy shrugs in a careless what-can-you-do way. “I guess she convinced the warden that these classes would motivate us criminals to straighten up, or at least finish our holes fast. I guess she’s right because you’re all goofy about these dumba--”

 

“Well _yeah_ , I love learning!” Maka has half a mind to climb out of her hole and hug him for the life-changing information, but upon remembering the jolt that rippled through her at noticing his eyes, she decides against it. Instead she smacks her lips, wipes the sweat off her forehead, and promises herself to get faster at digging holes.

 

“Looks like you didn’t get a hat, either,” he notes, and before Maka can comprehend that he must have gone out of his way to score a hat for her, he fishes one out of his pocket and throws it in her face. “Wear it, you look like a lobster.”

 

She blinks at it, taking in the clean khaki. Suddenly, her suspicion rears its ugly head. “How did--”

 

“Just take it, Pigtails. Anyway, I'm supposed to meet Jackie at the rec to beat her at pool if you want to find me when you're done…”

 

He doesn’t bother glancing over his shoulder as he turns away to the sanctuary of the air conditioned rec center. If he had, he would have caught Maka rubbing the hat material between her fingers, thanking God for its breathable cotton and safety from the sun. Without a second thought, she tucks it on her head and rubs her hands together before picking up her shovel.

 

She has a lot of work to do, and possibly a game of pool to catch.

 

X

 

The bell above the door chimes. Tsubaki’s heart can't handle Wes positively _beaming_ at the sight of her, making a beeline straight for the counter where she’s been arranging flowers.

 

“Good afternoon,” he says, holding out a hand, which she takes. He's so _warm_ and soft. “How are you today?”

 

“Wonderful,” she replies, giving in to the goosebumps sprouting up and down her arms.

 

“That's great.” And he means it. Everything about his being radiates honesty. There's something joyful about him, his very presence relaxing and exciting at the same time. “I would like to buy five dozen flowers, please.”

 

Tsubaki stifles a pang of jealousy -- could these be a gift for a crush, perhaps, or a suitor? She counts the money he hands her and gives him the exact change, but she's startled when he offers her a single rose from the ones he brought.

 

“It's the most beautiful one, for the most beautiful one,” he says.

 

Tsubaki spends the rest of the afternoon by the window watching him hand flowers to every passerby. He _had_ mentioned that the town was in desperate need of more beauty, but she's of the opinion that the town needed _him_ and his brand of softness. When he runs out of flowers, he joins the neighborhood children running around in the street, picking up the smallest girl when she's having trouble as ‘it’ and running with her until they tag someone. Though the game eventually takes him out of her sight, he never quite leaves her mind. 

 

X

 

“Wow, you look terrible.”

 

“Thanks _Jackie_ , that really boosts my already trashed self esteem.”

 

“I’m saying it out of _love_ , Butthole.”

 

Soul takes his aggression out on his apple, satisfied at how it crunches and dissolves in his mouth. “Great word choice. You’re _sooo_ tactful.”

 

Jackie closes her eyes, grumbling out an apology that sounds rough but genuine. “Real talk though, you really are worrying me. Sometimes you look like you haven’t slept in a whole week, and it’s scary how dark the bags under your eyes get. Also, you have this twitch, I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but it’s a little concerning.”

 

“I’m _fine,”_ Soul lies through his teeth. Part of him can’t help but resent her for offering help. As strange as it seems, he’s gone seventeen years without anyone, not even his parents, prying and begging to be let in, so why let anyone help _now_? Jackie’s the closest thing to a friend he’s ever had -- and it’s not fair for her to take on the additional roles of his therapist, doctor, mentor, mother, and father. Besides, he deserves little of her compassion. He’s not worth the effort, so he shouldn’t waste her time.

 

“I doubt that,” she continues, reaching across the table to put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re in trouble. Is…” There is a pause as she checks their surroundings. “Ah, maybe your nightmares and weapon powers are related?”

 

Something within Soul _snaps_ like a twig, and not because of her. She’s voicing his deepest fear, brushing on a raw, sensitive topic that’s like a wound that won’t heal. What comes out of his mouth reminds him too much of what that demon sounds like: low, gravely, guttural. “ _Don’t_ mention that ever again. I don’t have nightmares. I don’t have weapon powers. We’re not friends enough for you to know _anything_ about me like that. I already set up an appointment with the counselor… I don't need you.”

 

‘Heartbroken’ isn’t strong enough a word to describe the shellshocked disappointment that Jackie fails to blink away. Suddenly, her oatmeal is far more interesting than him because she redirects her attention to the bananas and strawberries in it, shoveling down every bit rather unenthusiastically. 

 

Soul relishes the break in conversation despite the tension now thickening the air. All he wants to do is dig his hole and go to bed. Shutting people out is hard, emotionally draining work, and he should conserve that energy for literally fighting off his demon and keeping his secrets tucked safely close to his chest. Funny how only three days earlier he submitted himself to a beating for the sake of sticking with her. Now, he’d rather drift away. She knows too much, and revealing more could be his undoing in every shape and form.

 

But apparently Jackie won’t give up on him. As much as that means to him, Soul _hates_ it. She dangles the baby snake fossil she found a few days earlier in front of him like a prized possession.

 

“I drilled a hole in it in shop class to wear as a necklace. Cool, right?”

 

Soul doesn’t bother looking at it again.

 

X

 

Sometimes he thinks leaving home was a mistake.

 

It didn't feel like that at first, especially not when he was high off the adrenaline rush of jumping out his second story bedroom window. He literally had hit the ground running, ankles cracking and heart thumping in his throat. At least he'd been considerate enough to avoid treading on his mother's flower beds on his way out of the too big, too perfect backyard, what with the immaculately shaped bushes and pretentious statues lining the patio. Part of Soul's hurried caution that night also stemmed from not wanting to leave behind clues. No footprints, no goodbye notes, no dropped hints that when his cat Blair went to jump in Soul's bed to wake him up, it'd be empty, and Soul would be long gone.

 

In retrospect, Soul Evans felt _bad_ about what he must have put his parents through. Deep, _deep_ down, they care about him, in their own distant way. His dad had probably cried after exhausting every outlet to find him. His mother’s tears most likely would've started earlier, as soon as the family's search of the four thousand square foot family home yielded no answers. Everyone had known how Soul didn't get out much. The number of people he talked to outside of blood relation could be counted on one hand, and those relationships were only forged through forced stand-sharing in orchestra. It hadn't occurred to Soul that running away would only worsen his loneliness until he'd found himself wandering through downtown that night with heavy eyelids but no place to close them.

 

But no matter how nippy the night became or how many times he'd woken to a stray dog sniffing at him, Soul vowed never to go back. What was there for him? Yeah, he lived for Blair and he contemplated bringing her along, but ultimately the streets were no place for her, as she was used to climbing up thousand-dollar curtains his mother replaced every three months, and peeing on designer cat litter. She even had her own room, right next to his, with lots of toys to play with and an actual twin-sized bed. No, Soul couldn’t take her, and what strengthened his resolve was the realization that it’s actually really sad that his best friend is a _cat_.

 

Maybe his parents would get over it. Over him. No matter how socially anxious, awkward, uncertain, and _unlucky_ he could be, his parents tried their best. Sort of. From a distance, at least. They nurtured his weird interests and hyped him up to a certain extent. In the end, that pushed him to leave for good, too. Some would go as far as to call him a spoiled brat, but as the son of the best prosecutor in California and a business mogul, what else could be expected? His parents ignored both him and the strange phenomenon surrounding his existence, and it made him _sick_. He’s done nothing but strengthen the bad luck following the Evans surname, though his parents refuse to admit it and find him help.

 

In retrospect, Soul understands it’s just how his father works. Tough love. His mother was too busy in the courtroom to defend him from his father or fill Soul with the reassurances he needed to hear. Maybe a hug here and there would have ebbed the pain, but oh well. Instead he had nannies and piano lessons and a meeting every day after school for some extracurricular activity his parents forced upon him -- all while holding his breath, terrified of the next unwanted transformation or appearance of the Oni.

 

“It’s normal for our family,” his mother had assured him every time his arm morphed into the scythe he's come to resent. “You’ll grow out of it, just like your father.”

 

Sometimes, when he’s falling asleep in his bunk bed after lunch, Soul feels _awful_ for running away. But then he hears his father saying, clear as day, “ _It’s the family curse, it’s getting stronger…”_ and he takes it back.

 

He regrets nothing, not even his own existence.

 

X

 

Masamune never knew he could hate someone so _deeply_.

 

It hurts. Worse than hearing Wes’s cheerful voice babble on about building a new schoolhouse ‘for the _children,’_ or renovating the businesses to generate more tourism and income, is that Tsubaki won’t stop pining for him. The city is destined for catastrophe; soon there won’t be a need for money or _beauty_ or love when every single soul disappears. Seeing the townspeople’s hopes rise so they can fall even steeper should bring Masamune joy, but he’s far past the capacity for emotions by this phase in the process. His goal is to become an empty shell, and there’s no room for fleeting feelings.

 

Except hatred. That’s all he needs.

 

“My stupid sister has fallen in love with that idiot. He comes by the shop to talk to her everyday and she's smitten.” Masamune’s eyes ache from rolling them too frequently. “But that doesn’t change the plan.”

 

Though Free’s left eye socket is as empty and barren as a cave, it’s like a window for the devil to look through. The enormous man blinks, always business-like in the most gaunt of ways. “Will you spare her?”

 

Masamune pauses to think -- Tsubaki is his only surviving relative, and at one point he did love her more than the sweets his mother would bake. But she’s gone now, thanks to the fire that had burned half the town five years ago, and maybe Tsubaki should join her sooner rather than later. “No.”

 

“Good. Witch Medusa requires as many souls as possible.” Free sticks a hand in his inner coat pocket, tossing a small, lightweight sack at Masamune. “That’s the prototype. Find the sheriff. He’s the first target.”

 

It’s like touching fire: the soul burns through the cloth, but when Masamune tries to squeeze it together between his fingers, he’s met with no resistance.

 

“If all works well, Witch Medusa--”

 

A familiar, unwelcome voice calls down the alley where Masamune has met with Free every week for the last six months. “Masamune! Need help throwing away those bags?”

 

Masamune jumps, afraid his heart will beat out of chest. He bites down on his tongue so hard he draws blood, tucking the sack away in his sleeve as Wes Evans makes his way down the cobblestones. Free must have slipped away, the immortal instructed by Medusa to keep in the shadows, his reflexes fine-tuned to a knife’s point. “No, you may leave now.”

 

Wes is visibly surprised to find Masamune by the trash can with neither bags nor company. “Talking to yourself?”

 

“No. Just acquainting myself with the snakes.”

 

And soon, Masamune will be _very_ familiar with them.

 

X

 

Day four of her sentence finds Maka the last one to put up her shovel. At least she’s getting faster, kind of. The sunset paints the sky pink and orange, the mountains in the distance a smudge on the horizon. If only there was a breeze to provide some relief, just a _tiny_ one, but Maka hasn’t even seen a cloud or heard wind since she arrived. She hasn’t done _anything_ but dig holes since she arrived, actually: hasn’t enrolled in any classes, hasn’t explored the detention center, hasn’t even taken up that boy on his invitation to play pool.

 

She doesn’t even know his _name_ yet.

 

And nobody knows hers.

 

And no, she doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about him, why should she? There is _not_ something inexplicably alluring about him, like he’s meant to be important in her life. Nope. He’s just a weird boy with blood so red it looks black, plain and simple. She’s just _homesick --_ yeah, that’s it! Even with all these other campers nearby, she’s _so_ lonely. At least back home, her papa would hug her each time he saw her, even if he left the room only a minute earlier to pop a bag of popcorn. He would cling to her when he needed a good cry -- it’s awful that she had to be bussed hours away to realize she’s not just his only support system, but it’s the other way around, too.

 

Poor Papa. Poor, dumb, _overbearing_ Papa, who smelled like other women’s perfume so often Maka isn’t sure anymore if he has a scent of his own.

 

Poor Mama. Poor lost, missing _Mama_ , who might be out there living her life not knowing the predicament Maka has gotten herself into.

 

Maka spends twenty minutes in the shovel shed, feeling sorry for her parents and for herself. Then she steps back out into the sun, latching the door shut behind her, on the lookout for snakes. Engrossed with watching her boots, she’s not aware of anyone coming up to her, but she _does_ feel the urgent taps on her shoulder. She looks behind both shoulders, twirling around in one spot when she doesn’t see anyone.

 

“Who’s there?”

 

There’s no response.

 

X

 

The police had confiscated Maka's necklace when they arrested her.

 

It was ‘evidence,’ they said. 

 

The whole thing had reeked of injustice. It wasn’t _fair_ and still isn’t. Maka needs the necklace as much as she needs her mama, and now she can’t have either. Sure, there’s no certain way to determine if it's the same one or not, but it was a step in the right direction to finding out the truth.

 

Now all she can do is lie awake and overthink. She tosses and turns in her lumpy, scratchy mattress, finding no comfortable position in the stiff bed sheets. Every muscle in her body is screaming for relief while her heart pines for the good-luck necklace her mama always wore.

 

“It keeps me safe,” her mama always said when Maka questioned why she never took it off.

 

But obviously it wasn't fool proof. Her mama just…disappeared, like a helium balloon slipping out of Maka's hand.

 

“What can keep me safe _here_?” Maka mouths to herself, not brave enough to speak aloud in case one of the other girls is also awake. On the other side of the wall, there could be a whole colony of snakes lying in wait. Ugh. What happens if she gets bitten by one, anyway? That boy had mentioned someone being helicoptered --

 

Maka sits up in bed. A doctor! She should see the doctor her for her insomnia. Going sleepless for a couple of days isn't healthy, especially with all the physical work demanded of her body. Changing into her day clothes (a t-shirt and shorts provided by the camp) and retying her hair, Maka steps into her shoes and out of the room.

 

Yeah, she doesn't know where the infirmary is, but that won't stop her now. That's what Blake would do, anyway...

 

On second thought, a lot of what he would do got him in trouble. A whole year Maka’s elder, as he constantly likes to remind her, Blake Barrett’s mama had left him too. And his papa. But it wasn’t on purpose. Not only had his birth parents been killed during a gang related fight, but his first set of foster parents couldn't stand his midnight wailing, the next couple didn't last a day because of his penchant for climbing to the roof and yodeling, and one set went as far as calling him a demon.  
   
“But not Sid and Nygus. They like me,” he had told Maka when they first met, one tooth missing thanks to falling off a tree branch he had been bouncing on. “I accidentally colored on the walls and clogged the toilet and broke the ceiling fan, but they said they still want me to stay!”  
   
“Wow,” Maka had said, thoughts leading back to her own mama. She squinted at him, thinking that he’s a troublemaker she’d rather avoid, wondering if he would be up for trading parents. “Hmm… if you can give kids away, can you give papas away too?”  


Blake had shrugged, and then the two ran off to play kickball. Somehow that led to Blake sneaking into their other neighbor’s house and ‘borrowing’ their television, complete with their VHS player and Nintendo 64. All the reasons _not_ to befriend him had been there, but Maka had just been too young and optimistic to notice.

 

She should have known he had stolen the necklace, too.

 

X

 

Soul hasn't slept since he met that girl with the pigtails.

 

At first he referred to her in his head as Pigtails when he thought about her. There's something _nice_ about her, something fierce in the way she stands up for what's right and would die on her hill of beliefs. She's solid and stubborn, unlike him, who is no more noticeable than wallpaper and even less wanted. Who would stick his neck out for him?

 

Okay, well -- Jackie would, and so would this total stranger. He'd never admit it but he feels indebted to Pigtails…and strangely, that's okay. There's another feeling there too, a type of curiosity he's reluctant to state because he'd rather not become attached, but it's too late. He already automatically scans every room he enters for the dirty blonde haired girl. But then he remembers he's trying to distance himself from people for a while. Taking a break. So he stops calling her Pigtails when he thinks about her…

 

And now all he has to do is _stop_ thinking about her.

 

Oni doesn't think anything of her, though. He's more preoccupied with the snakes. If Soul didn't know any better, he'd think Oni is acting more as a guardian angel than a demon. All the suit-clad, scaly skinned imp does recently is rock back and forth at the foot of Soul's bed, muttering about the slithery creatures and warning Soul about them in a twitchy, unsettling chant.

 

“ _Snakes snakes snakes snakes snakes snakes snakes… everywhere. They're bad bad bad bad. The big one is coming_.”

 

Soul _must_ be dreaming. It's hard to tell. Maybe he’s going mad. Usually Oni tortures him no matter what state of consciousness Soul is in, so this is a new pattern of behavior for the ugly thing. It's _scary_. The demon's never been afraid of anything. Oni’s been chewing on its long nails, a demented ball of anxiety. An hour into this, it trains its iris-less eyes on Soul, crawling up his body and getting into his face. “ _DO YOU HEAR ME? IT'S COMING! SHE'S REAWAKENING! MY MASTER IS RETURNING!_ ”

 

Scrawny fingers wrap around Soul's neck. Kicking and struggling doesn't throw Oni off Soul, so he resorts to rolling off the bed and to the floor, hoping he hits his head hard on something on the way down. Maybe the impact of landing will jolt him awake, but the only thing it accomplishes is knocking the wind out of him. Oni stares down at him from above and then slips backwards out of sight, hopefully going back to hell or wherever he came from.

 

Sometimes Soul wants to cry. It’s just -- too _much_. Whether he’s crazy or just possessed or haunted or _whatever_ , he needs a break from it. Part of him thought running away from home would fix everything. But no, nothing can be easy for him. Oni isn’t tethered to the house that’s been in his family for generations, it’s tethered to _him_. Before he knows it, Soul is sprinting barefoot through the halls of the boys’ hall, smashing into the heavy, keypad-locked door leading to the main stairway. He _promised_ himself to stay, but he just _can’t_ , not when the desert would make such a perfect getaway --

 

He almost trips over a pigtailed girl sitting on the last step, hugging her knees. “Oh! It’s you!”

 

Then he’s doubled over, clutching a stitch on his side, breathing hard. Gulping, he wipes away tears and dares a glance behind him, fully expecting Oni to have chased after him, but it’s just him and Pigtails.

 

“What’s wrong?” Standing, she wipes her shorts off and walks up to him, hand on his shoulder. “You look like you were being chased.”

 

Soul honestly doesn’t deserve her concern. “Had… a nightmare.”

 

“That's _awful_. Here - come sit down, you'll feel better.”

 

She guides him to the steps like a little kid and doesn't take her hands off his shoulders even when he settles down. Soul bounces his leg, the habit more of a coping mechanism than a nervous twitch.

 

“We should probably get you a drink of water… wonder if there's a water fountain nearby?”

 

“I'm good,” he insists, shrugging her hands off. Keeping others at a distance is the safer choice. Jackie found out about his ‘special’ quality, and nothing’s been the same since. He can't help but be _mean_ to push her away, and lately she's been throwing the same coldness back at him. “Just needed to run things out, I guess. Get my cardio in and whatnot...”

 

“Yeah, and you're sweating and shaking, is that normal for you too?”

 

Soul scowls. “No, Captain Obvious, but let me deal with my trauma by myself. This isn't your business.”

 

Pigtails pouts, narrowing her eyes. “I'm trying to help you, jerk. Why are you so moody all the time? One day you're trying to be my friend, and the next you're being all dark and gloomy.”

 

“It's not a phase, _Mom,_ this is how I am. _”_

The two simmer in silence until she snaps her head in his direction out of the blue. “ _WHAT_!?”

 

“Lord, are you crazy?” Soul flinches, wondering who's more difficult to put up with: this girl, or Oni.

 

“You keep tapping me on the shoulder. What do you want?”

 

“I'm doing no such thing, Pigtails! You see my hands, yes?” he raises them, wiggling his fingers. “I haven't touched you.”

 

Her face falls, a certain disbelief gleaming in her eyes. She worries her lip for what seems like hours before asking in a low voice, “When you mentioned ghosts the other day… what did you mean?”

 

If he didn’t currently have his own actual, physical, non-imaginary demon waking up him every hour just like a newborn baby, Soul would cackle until he died. What she's insinuating is _insane_. But he’s seen that expression on his own face. “It’s true. I read about it in the newspaper section in the library--”

 

“LIBRARY?” She shoots up, pulling him along by the arm. “You have to show me.”

 

Another glance to the top of the stairs reveals that the Oni hasn’t followed him, so Soul obliges. Why not? He’s not getting any sleep tonight or ever probably, and nothing’s scarier than living an actual nightmare. The best part, in a weird, messed up sort of way, is that he’s not alone: the girl holds on to his wrist all the way there, like she’s taking his pulse.

 

Hopefully she’s not counting his heartbeat, because it’s _racing_. 

 

X

 

“Here it is… It’s a pile of old, used books and laminated newspaper clippings that Dr. Mjolnir started a few months ago. She’s the therapist here, I told you that, right?”

 

Soul wishes he could see the world through Pigtails’s bright eyes, which he discovers are _green_. How had he not noticed before? The library is basically a walk-in closet lined with bookshelves, but she’s regarding every bit of it like gold.

 

“Guess she’s a nerd like you,” he continues, pretty sure Pigtails stopped listening. “She’s a history buff and won’t shut up about all the weird stuff that’s happened around here. Has a cool eyepatch, too.”

 

“I can’t wait to meet her,” the girl breathes, gently dragging her fingers across the book spines before snapping out of her trance. “Okay, so -- where are these newspapers you told me about?”

 

Exhaustion settles in his bones as he sits criss-cross applesauce in this tiny makeshift library, but for the first time in years, he’d rather not rest. Watching Pigtails’s eyelashes flutter as she scans each page is, well, _fun,_ and if someone twisted his arm hard enough he would admit it's endearing.

 

“Fire burns down half of Death City,” she reads. “September 19, 1914. Much like the windy city, the mysterious, deadly fire is said to have been started by a tipped lantern. Rescue missions have been delayed by lack of resources, mainly water…” Pigtails pauses to comment that the article reads like a telegram. “Fifty remain unaccounted and presumed dead.”

 

Soul thinks he hears footsteps but can't move. If it's the Oni, he'd rather die than be scared in public. Except… If Oni tries to hurt Pigtails…

 

“Oooo, this one's from January 1920, from the Las Vegas Sun…” She shifts, straightening her posture before reading aloud: “‘Death City now a ghost town… horse drawn carriages and people on foot traveled through the lively cobblestone roads, buying handmade goods from cart vendors. But when travelers passed through the town on January 15th, not a single soul could be found. Stores stood eerily still, houses sat empty, and all around town items lay around as if put down by someone with the intention of coming back soon. An investigation done by the state police turned up no clues and only more questions.’”

 

Under the single light bulb overhead, Pigtails goes so still Soul begins to think she’s turned into a statue. Her chest isn’t rising and falling like it was a few seconds ago, Soul finding a nice rhythm to it, trying to match his breathing with hers. The shadows that stretch across her face as she turns mesmerize him, _haunt_ him.

 

“That’s just like what happened to my mama!”

 

The door swings open just as he opens his mouth.

 

“Your seven minutes in heaven are over,” Stein says in a bored tone, cigarette hanging on his lips. “Out.”

 

Getting up too quickly makes him dizzy, but Soul widens the distance from Pigtails as much as possible without appearing too guilty. He would like to extend his sentence, yes, but not because he got caught sneaking around after hours to make out in a _closet_. The thought strikes a nerve -- first of all, _ew,_ and second of all, Maka would slap him into next century if he tried.

 

Still, he curses himself for reddening at the thought of kissing her.

 

“We shouldn't jump to conclusions, Frank,” a female voice reminds patiently from behind the tall man.

 

Soul can't believe his luck. “Dr. Mjolnir!”

 

She steps into view, smile so wide her eye squint. “Hello there, Soul. Please, call me Marie. Out for some late night reading?”

 

“Yeah, exactly! It's that insomnia thing I was telling you about in our first meeting!”

 

Stein regards Pigtails with mild interest. “I haven't seen you, but you look familiar…are you fresh blood?”

 

“I'm… _new_ ,” Pigtails answers hesitantly, hands clasped behind her back like a schoolgirl.

 

Thank God and everything holy for Dr. Marie Mjolnir, who radiates kindness and warmth and manages to find out Pigtails’s name just by introducing herself first and offering a handshake: Maka. Maka Albarn. Soul pretends not to care about the revelation, or about Stein studying him like a piece of meat.

 

“I admire your love of reading. This isn’t the best time to be in here though,” Marie says, patting both of them on the head like a mother tucking her children into bed. “Go back to your rooms, okay?”

 

Stein doesn’t blink as Soul and Maka make their way to the foyer and climb up the staircase, pausing at the landing. Half expecting the Oni to be waiting behind the door, Soul steels himself and heads right to the boy’s wing.

 

“Soul?”

 

He turns around -- glad that his name sounds so _right_ coming out of her mouth. “Yeah?”

 

She’s mighty happy with herself, a small smile lighting up her face. Oh _no_ \-- she's almost cute, actually, the way she finds joy in the little things. “So that _is_ your name, good! That's what I thought Marie said… but...hi. I'm Maka.”

 

“Hi, Maka. Goodnight.”

 


	3. she just... disappeared!

 

Maka Albarn had lost many things before: dolls, doll shoes, hair clips, socks, candy, crayons, but never a whole person.

 

The grief of losing her mama had been too heavy and cumbersome for a five-year-old to carry in her small hands. Even though her papa had tried to shoulder the load, he couldn’t stop the baggage from crashing down on Maka like a pile of bricks for too long. She’d felt it crash into her small body, when she caught him kissing women other than her mama, something that fried her insides with a rage that has never quite died since. It wasn’t _fair,_ the word echoing endlessly in her mind after her discovery. Papa had betrayed her mama, severed their family apart, and now Maka is forced to live in the same space with him?

 

No, she wouldn’t have it. Maka threw her first tantrum of many the day the police let her and Papa in her mama’s apartment.

 

Maybe that was when her life first started to go downhill.

 

“... Only coming to get your toys and clothes,” he had reassured when Maka refused to step inside. When gently tugging her inside by the hand hadn’t work, Papa bent down on one knee much like her mama had told Maka he proposed, minus the investigators interrupting to ask about the missing persons paperwork. “Go to your room and pack your things, my little angel.”

 

Maka stomped past the officers and into her mama’s room, peeking into the closet to find it untouched. She had helped hang up the laundry only three days earlier. All of her mama’s dresses and blouses stared back at her. Pulling the drawers open revealed the same fullness, and she struggled to remember exactly how many things her mama owned. Was it a lot? Did it matter?

 

Oh no -- what did her mama even _look_ like?

 

Suddenly, her mama’s prized possession -- a necklace with a brilliant ruby angel-shaped pendant -- popped into Maka’s mind. Running over to the vanity confirmed Maka’s fear: it’s gone, and her mama would never go anywhere without it. 

 

Then, standing there staring at herself in the mirror for what seemed like weeks, Maka’s stomach began to _throb_ like someone spilled acid in it. She stayed frozen there until Papa cajoled her into her room, and then she only watched him pack her things away while she tried to recollect her mama’s features. Long, dark, straight hair, light brown eyes, a perfect circle birthmark in the left side of her chin. Yep, that's her mama. Maka vowed to never forget her and put her foot down when her papa told her to say goodbye to the apartment.

 

“I want to stay here. Mama might come back!”

 

In retrospect, Papa’s puffy, red eyes and haggard face should have been a dead giveaway that her mama’s loss hadn’t been easy for him either. This was the man who had bawled himself straight to the mental health crisis center when Mama finally served his divorce papers. “It’s temporary, Maka. Mama is only gone for today.”

 

“So…” Maka brushed her papa's red hair out of his wet eyes and held his face, searching for any sign of deception. “She'll be back tomorrow?”

 

“Mhm,” he hummed sadly, and the hug they shared had felt like it was more for his comfort than her for some reason.

 

The next day, she found out why. That promise turned out to be a lie, too. A day turned into two days and three and then weeks and bled into a year. Halloween came and went. Maka refused to wear matching Jack and Zero costumes from _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ with her papa because her mama was supposed to be Sally. Their outfits would be _stupid_ without her. When Mama did not appear on Maka’s birthday, her stomach did that twisty, achy, hopeless thing it did when she realized her mama’s pendant had vanished. When she blew out her candles on the cat face cake her papa baked with much struggle, she wished for one thing: for her mama to come _back_.

 

For the loneliness to go away.

 

And now… now, she's in juvie and misses her papa.

 

But the only thing she tells Soul the next day when they eat breakfast together is that her mama is _gone_ , and that’s it.

 

There’s been no closure.

 

“She just… _disappeared_ ,” Maka keeps repeating. It makes Soul _sad_ , she can tell by the way he furrows his brows, and she’s moved by his quiet compassion. He doesn’t feel sorry for her, he just… listens, nodding.

 

It feels good to share even the smallest portion of her sorrow.

 

X

 

Because Maka is still painfully slow at digging holes, she’s out on the campgrounds by herself through the second week. Being the new camper is a lot like being the new kid at school. No one notices her, and when they do it’s to yell at her for blocking their way or to make fun of her for her oddly shaped holes. Soul and Jackie are the only ones who’ve treated her like a human -- and the Thompson sisters, who compliment her hair for always being frizz-free each morning before tying her pigtails together.  
   
By the time Maka trudges to the girls’ dormitory, showers, nurses the new pink on her skin despite all the sunblock she lathered on, eats, and limps to the recreation center, the activity has slowed down to a weary chorus of chatter. The newest dance-pop song blares on the radio but the other -- inmates? Classmates? Campers? -- have been lulled into serenity by a warm dinner and general exhaustion. The hierarchy and cliques among them disinterest her, so she understands why Soul is a loner. After all, she’s _still_ been watching him from afar too, and has come to one conclusion:  
   
It’s true that Soul Evans likes to be alone. He hadn’t lied, and there’s something frightening about his honesty.   
   
When he's not on the grounds, he's in the rec room with Jackie, arguing over their chess game or the music choice on the jukebox. When Maka hangs around them, he’s either quieter, faraway, or more obnoxious than usual, his tongue sharp with quick comebacks. Other times, he's out of sight. From the conversations she’s sat through between Soul and Jackie, he apparently doesn’t sleep well and naps during the day, with the lights on. Jackie often teases him, accusing him of being afraid of the dark. Soul doesn’t deny it. 

 

Today is one of those days where they don’t get along, which seem to be more frequent. Their arguments have slowly lost their friendly banter.

 

“Can you stop tapping your nails on the table?” Soul asks as Jackie mulls over her next move on Monopoly. “It’s annoying.”

 

Jackie doesn’t even look up from the board game. She stops playing with her snake necklace to tap with both her hands. “Can you stop talking? That’s annoying, too, _Freak_.”

 

Soul freezes. Maka likes to think she’s intuitive, tuning in to other’s feelings like a musician tunes their instrument, but Soul’s been an enigma since she first met him. In this moment, though -- _God,_ he’s more translucent than glass and about as fragile. He’s pale, _seething_ , knuckles white. Beneath the rush of anger, Maka perceives a sense of betrayal rushing through him.

 

“Say that again,” he dares her through his clenched teeth.

 

“ _Freak_.”

  
“That’s not a nice word,” Maka intervenes, unsure if she should lure Soul away to cool off or herd Jackie to the corner for a time out. Either way, neither hear her. Navigating the tension when she’s not yet completely familiar with their dynamic proves to be the hardest thing she’s attempted at Shibusen besides digging holes.

 

The chair squeaks as Soul pushes himself away from the table, _calmly_. “I didn’t quite hear you. Say that again?”

 

It’s absolutely mind warping to Maka that this scene isn’t drawing anyone’s attention save for Free, who’s standing guard by the exit. He turns his head the slightest bit toward the trio.

 

“F-R-E-A-K.”

 

“I really _don’t_ want to end up in the warden’s office again,” Maka begs them, abandoning her orange juice. She sweeps the gameboard and the pieces back into the box in one smooth motion. “Soul, Jackie doesn’t mean what she said--”

 

“I do, though, _Pigtails_.”

 

Somehow, this riles Soul up more than the insult. “That’s not her name!”

 

Jackie slams her fists down on the table, shouting out a two worded vulgar phrase that sounds like _puck too_. The remaining portion of her insult is cut off by Free, who had darted over and orders them to “Shut up and sit down.”

 

“Sorry, my bad, oops... I did it again,” Jackie mumbles to Soul and Maka unconvincingly. “When will I ever learn to process my childhood trauma from living on the streets and learn to express my emotions in a healthy manner so that it doesn’t interfere with my relationships or hurt those around me?”

 

“I see you’ve been meeting with Marie,” Free monotones, shoving her toward the exit. “That psychology nonsense won’t work on me. That’s two more holes for the smart mouth, missy.”

 

“ _Wow_ ,” Soul whispers when the rec room chatter picks up again, the scene soon forgotten. “...Too real.”

 

Maka wants to push his bangs out of his eyes, but that’s a little too intimate a gesture. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” he whispers, suddenly enthralled by his palms and feeling more faraway to Maka than ever.

 

He’s _not_ okay, and she can’t do anything about it.

 

X

 

That evening, Jackie doesn’t join them for dinner. She sets up camp at a table on the other side of the cafeteria, shoving its previous occupant to the floor and stealing his lunch tray. “Move it or lose it, Ox!”

 

Maka watches the scene unfold in awe and horror. “Should we… stop her?”

 

“No,” Soul says, bored, peeling his orange and handing it to her. “Forget her, she’s dead to me.”

 

“But she’s your friend!”

 

“Nope. Dead to me.”

 

Jackie cuts them in line the next morning, and the next, and the next. Though Soul refuses to acknowledge the bullying, Maka knows he’s too aware of his former friend trying to get under his skin. Jackie snatches his shovel out of his hands no matter how many new ones he picks up from the shed, spits in his hole while he’s in it, encourages any nearby hidden snakes to bite him, and makes a song out of the word _freak_.

 

Liz wanders over to Soul and Maka while they’re playing Slapjack at the rec center a week later and asks an important question, one that requires neither preamble nor clarification: “What’s her problem lately?”

 

“That she knows too much. She’s worse than a demon,” Soul sighs.

 

X

 

About a month into Maka’s sentence, she’s grown competent enough at the art of digging holes to be able to finish roughly by five pm. It’s still not early enough to enroll in classes or counseling, but any progress is good progress, a step closer to freedom and escape from the _sun_.

 

Ever since Soul has cut all ties with Jackie, Maka’s been his go-to friend. His _only_ friend. She’s still not sure how to feel about that -- on one hand, Jackie’s absence has allowed time for Maka to get to know Soul, but on the other hand, the fallout has left him with a hole in his heart...not that he will admit it, choosing to pretend Jackie doesn't exist. On top of that added stress of the taunting, Maka considers his bloodshot eyes and sluggishness as signs that his insomnia hasn’t improved despite his sessions with Marie on Tuesdays.

 

So, overall, Soul isn't doing too well.

 

Still, Maka is glad he's letting her be his friend. She's touched to see him waiting for her in the shed for the third day in a row, reading a book they found in the library about the main character suffering from sleep paralysis. “Hey, wanna play a game at the rec?”

 

She shakes her head mournfully, holding up her palms. “Not today, sorry. My blisters have blisters.”

 

“Sucks to suck.”

 

It’s great to _laugh_ freely, even if it stretches the skin over her sunburned cheeks. “Thanks for your sympathy.”

 

“Yep, no prob. Got loads of that. Tell me something else.”

 

“I lost one of my ponytail elastics.”

 

“That’s tragic. That why you’ve been wearing your hair up?”

 

“Mhmm.” Distantly, the revelation that he’s noticed changed in her _hair_ makes her stomach do something weird, but it’s much more pleasant than the turmoil she experiences when the subject of her mama comes up. That reminds her -- maybe she should write to her papa. Despite his smothering, overbearing, obnoxious personality, she kind of…misses his presence. No doubt he misses her, too. “Oh, by the way, where’s the mailbox?”

 

“At the rec.”

 

When they're there, she can't find it. Soul nods in an obscure direction, and when she _still_ can't see it, he walks her over to the blue metal dropbox between the pinball and Pacman machines.

 

“Right here, silly.”

 

Bingo.

 

“Thanks, Soul. What would I do without you?”

 

Before she strolls away, Maka catches him blushing.

 

x

 

_Dear Papa_

Okay, maybe ‘dear’ is coming off too strong.

 

_Papa_

Still coming off too strong.

 

_Hi,_

_It's me, Maka. Have you been watering the flowers? I wrote the exact water measurements in the notebook by the fridge. How is the neighborhood cat? I also left instructions on how to feed her in the same notebook by the fridge. Tell her I miss her. I miss her hugs. When I get home, can we keep her?_

 

“So… I’m writing home to ask about the cat and my flowers,” Maka makes fun of herself aloud, hitting herself on the forehead with the notebook. “Okay, no, I got this…”

 

_Are you eating everyday? The food here is okay. I made a new friend and we eat all our meals together now._

She also punched her new friend in the face, but she won’t mention that to her papa.

_His name is Soul. He eats gummy bears for breakfast even though I tell him not to, but he gives me his carton of orange juice so I let it slide. He also showed me where the library is, and it has a lot of books I’ve never read before, actually, so I’m really excited!_

Mmm… she won’t mention the disappearances in Death City a hundred years ago yet, either. She and Soul haven’t had the chance to read more newspaper clippings anyway -- ever since Marie and Stein found Maka and Soul in the closet, either one or both of the adults have been lingering by the library, as if on the lookout for something.

 

_That’s about it, Papa. I can only send out one letter a week so can you show this to Blake, too? This face is for you, Blake..._

_:P_

 

Great. Now, how should she sign this?

 

_Love,_

 

Nope, that’s coming off too strong again.

 

_Sincerely,_

 

Ahhh… no.  
  
_From your daughter,_  
  
No. Maybe just…  
  
_Maka_  
  
Now the letter is _perfect_ , and it only took about five hours of her Saturday to write, and another two hours to reread it for grammar and spelling mistakes, and another to doubt her word choices. Should she go back and sprinkle in some more affection, or take some out? She decides to draw some hearts around the border and on the envelope. It’s a safe start.

 

After all, it's not that she hates her papa. She's just…stubborn, and new to this forgiveness thing.

 

X

 

 

When it rains, Tsubaki likes to pretend the sky is grieving, cleansing the world of its sorrow. If only it had rained that day the fire claimed half her town and half her family… but she refuses to allow the _what if’s_ to dictate her mood and her future. While there were days when she thought she couldn’t carry on, she’s made it through and vows to keep going.

 

Masamune, though - he’s not quite been the same since he dragged her out of the burning house. It’s as though the flames consumed part of him. While he’d never been optimistic or extroverted before, the fire robbed him of everything: his savings, his dreams of moving out of Death City, his freedom. Ever since, he's taken on the role of raising Tsubaki, but now that she's of age, only apathy and routine bind him to this town.

 

The breaking point is literal; their wagon’s axle breaks on the way back from Las Vegas one Wednesday afternoon. It's sprinkling, the raindrops dampening their clothes and her brother's mood. Masamune kicks the ground to relieve his frustration, shouting, “That’s it, Tsubaki. Forget the flower shop. Forget Death City! We’re never going back. We’re going back to Vegas and taking the railroad to California.”

 

“No!” The first thing she thinks about are not her succulents, but Wes Evans and how she couldn’t stand to be apart from him. “Business at the flower shop will pick up soon, I promise. Weren’t you just saying you’ve noticed a huge increase in our sales the past few months? You said we'd have enough to buy a house after 1921!”

 

Her brother falls into silence, resting his head on their horse. “...Yes, you’re right. And I have my duties to keep, too.”

 

“Good,” Tsubaki chirps. At that moment, she thinks he’s referring to fulfilling their parent’s dream of running a successful shop, but later on, _after_ , she will realize Masamune meant something darker. “Let’s problem solve. How are we going to fix our wagon?”

 

Masamune begins rearranging their supplies, combining contents from one sack with another, but it’s all in vain. They have _too_ much to carry with them on their horse. He’s in the middle of suggesting that one of them rides the horse home with half of their supplies and then return for the other when a familiar Ford Model T pulls up next to them, sleek and black in all its glory.

 

“Hello,” Wes Evans greets over the noisy engine. “Is everything alright?”

 

“ _Yes,”_ Masamune seethes, turning his back to busy himself with the horse’s reins. “We were about to head home.”

 

“Our old wagon finally gave up on us,” Tsubaki explains, pointing to the damage. “It's been through too much so it’s not surprising, but it’s inconvenient.”

 

“I’m glad I’ve found you, then! Please, may I offer my automobile? There’s plenty of space for both of you and your things.”

 

But Masamune isn’t having it. “ _No_ , we’ve already thought of a solution.”

 

“I’ll go with you, Wes.” It’s the first time she’s said his name in his presence. Her heart is beating like thunder, strengthened by his slow grin. He has the most _gorgeous_ smile, really, and --

 

“Fine,” Masamune spits out. “ _You_ go with _him_ with our supplies, and _I’ll_ take the horse home.”

 

“Excellent,” Wes drawls. He even climbs down from his seat to open the passenger side door for her, taking Tsubaki’s hand to guide her inside the vehicle. What’s funny to her once they’ve driven out of Masamune’s sight is that Wes begins to chuckle. “He’s not fond of me, is he?”

 

“No,” she agrees. “But I am.”

 

Wes gives her sidelong glance, his cheeks tinting a precious pink. “Honest?”

 

She’s never been so _brave_ and open with her feelings. And then again, she’s never felt like this for anyone. “Yes…and the feeling is already more than I can handle.”

 

 “We have a lot in common.” His voice is soft. A shyness Tsubaki has never witnessed comes over him. “If both of my hands weren’t on the steering wheel, I would hold yours…”

 

Tsubaki solves that issue too -- she hooks her arm around his ever so _slowly,_ she thinks she's lost the ability to move. Wes gives a nervous laughs, and she feels it reverberate through his body.

 

“You're amazing, you know that, Tsubaki?”

 

The trip back to Death City takes approximately an hour, but it’s not boring in the least because he opens up. She learns Wes Evans hails from New York, the son of a banker, and traveled out west to invest. Death City was only supposed to be a pit stop, but one look at the remains of the fire and he decided to stay and aid in the rebuilding efforts. He'll know he's successful when he's built a music hall downtown. As a child, he had learned to read music from his mother and kept her violin, though he’s out of practice thanks to lack of time -- but when the music hall is built, that'll all change.

 

“I’ll play a song for you,” he promises. “You could be my audience of one, my special guest… but we don't have to wait so long! Maybe after dinner one of these evenings?”

 

“That would be amazing. I could also show you how we maintain the flowers in this dry climate. It’s not too difficult --”

 

By that time, they’ve driven up to the shop. Wes presses on the brake too quickly, the inertia jerking an astonished Tsubaki forward. His outstretched arm serves a barrier between her forehead and the dashboard. She slides out of the vehicle, sinking into the soft earth, but she has no time to care about mud on her shoes or the hem of her dress.

 

“It's… it's _destroyed_!”

 

For the second time, her family's flower shop is a shadow of its former glory, smoke trailing out of its broken glass windows. Before, bright colors brought the shop to life. Now it's marked by ash and soot and destruction.

 

Swinging between extreme emotions gives Tsubaki a headache.

 

Wes squeezes her shoulder gently as a reminder that he's here for her, dealing with the police officers that arrive on the scene at his request and questioning the neighbors. The bakers nor the bankers report witnessing any strange activity, and the sheriff responds to the tragedy by stating that the department already _kn_ ows about the arson. His obvious disinterest and coldness bothers Wes, and Tsubaki has to loop her arm around his again to retrain him.

 

“Hasn’t it… always looked like this?” The sheriff tips his hat to them, bidding them goodnight.

 

Wes boils with rage. “How _dare_ he!”

 

“It's okay, Wes, my brother and I will overcome this,” she reassures through a shaky smile. She's so enthralled by Wes wiping her tears away that she doesn't notice Masamune arriving until he hops off the horse and snarls at the pair.

 

“ _Why_ are you touching my sister?” It's like he's not the least bit surprised that bad fortune has struck their family again. Only one word of Wes’s explanation sticks with Masamune. “The sheriff came? What did the he say?”

 

“He didn’t care at _all_ ,” Tsubaki cries. “It was strange, he didn’t seem to be in his right mind.”

 

Her older brother’s mouth twitches into a grin that leaves her ill at ease for days.

 

X

 

“... Relax your hand, slightly turn your wrist to the left, and let your fingers drop into place,” Wes instructs. Tsubaki can’t concentrate with his face so close to hers, his cologne something out of this world. She wouldn't trade anything for alone time with him with him like this, though. “Gently curve your fingers over the top of the bow stick… perfect!”

 

“It feels odd,” she giggles, more out of jitters than the awkwardness of handling his violin.

 

“The more you practice, the more you become adjusted.”

 

Three weeks after the fire brings the shop a brand new skeleton: the ceiling replaced, the walls painted, the ash scrubbed and swept away. Time has also given Tsubaki another blessing: more hours with with Wes Evans. He's a marvelous teacher, a detailed listened, and super _suave_. One blissful moment he’s touching her chin, repositioning it. The next, he’s removing the violin from her hands and moving closer. Then all she feels is Wes’s mouth on hers, one hand still pressing into her lower back, his other hand cradling the side of her face. Tsubaki makes a soft sound and, without thinking, raises her hand to grab the back of Wes’s neck, pulling him closer.

 

“I didn’t believe in God before,” he says when they pull apart to breathe, “but I do now.”

 

X

 

Soon Tsubaki begins to associate the rain with Wes Evans. It’s refreshing, comforting, cleansing, and beautiful, just like the young man who’s changed the town for the better and kisses her on the cheek when no one's looking. Their relationship isn't a secret, but it's too new to share with the world, and they would rather keep it to themselves, especially since Masamune’s disapproval is palpable. The rational side of Tsubaki wonders if her brother is right -- she and Wes are moving quickly, but who says there is an official dating rulebook to follow?

 

Tsubaki sits on the stool and watches the street through her window, counting raindrops until Wes arrives for dinner.

 

It's been raining a lot lately.

 

And when it rains, it pours.

 

Wes bursts into the shop earlier than expected, a frantic gleam in his eye. “Tsubaki! Tsubaki -- you haven’t seen Angela here, have you?”

 

“No.” She squints with the effort of remembering the last time she saw the young girl with her signature helmet of curls. It was _months_ ago, when Tsubaki watched Wes play tag with the children, back when she could only dream of being this close to him. Her mind runs a million miles a minute. Wes _loves_ those children; this can’t be good. “Why, what’s happened to Angela?”

 

“She’s gone _missing_!”

 

X

 

“No way.”

 

“ _Please_ , Soul, don't be rude.”

 

“ _You’re_ trying to rip away my last shred of sanity and _I'm_ being rude?”

 

Maka nods, her serious expression too adorable for Soul to deny, but giving her a hard time has become his favorite hobby. They’re sitting in the library slash broom closet, mindful of the opened door and Stein not so casually staring across the hallway at them. “You're right,” she agrees. “You're being selfish, not rude.”

 

He would smile, but he’s self conscious of his teeth and can already imagine Stein prying his mouth open to ‘get a closer look,’ treating Soul like some kind of show horse. “ _Fine,_ I’ll take the science class, but only if you take the cross stitching class with me next week.”

 

“I can’t wait! It’ll be so much fun.” Sighing happily, she jots down the events in the planner Soul brought for her from the supplies store (also a closet) after she kept getting her classes mixed up. She went a little overboard when she finally qualified for signups. Yeah, maybe he missed her because she suddenly went from having lots of free time to being overbooked, and _maybe_ he’s okay with learning if it means spending more time with Maka. Others might call his willingness to do anything for her a _crush_ , but Soul considers it personal growth.

 

The sound of small feet tap dancing down the hallway toward them sends a cold chill down Soul’s spine. _Oni_. Sometimes Soul thinks his whole life is one giant nightmare, and someday when he dies he’ll wake up a normal person -- but so far there’s no evidence proving him right. He’s just a cursed boy scrambling to make up some sort of wild tale for when Maka and Oni finally meet, which is now seconds from happening.

 

“ _Snakes snakes snakes snakes....”_ The red imp drops down from the ceiling, limbs bending where there shouldn’t be joints. “ _And scorpions, Soul, and spiders, and you’ll go mad mad mad mad mad mad because they’ll crawl in your ears and eat your brain. Hehehe.”_

 

Soul doesn’t move a muscle. He’s a sitting duck, taking this torment, beyond grateful that Maka doesn’t seem to notice Oni at all. She’s still writing away, now on the next month’s calendar. Oni lunges at Soul, slapping him across the face.

 

“Soul! Are you okay?”

 

He feels Maka’s hands on his cheeks, thinking that she might be some kind of angel. Oni is gone, but Soul owes him a thank you: she’s so _close_ , and she smells nice on top of being so caring and perceptive. “Is that your nervous twitch that Jackie was talking about?”

 

“ _Ugh_ , don’t mention her, that's like summoning another one of my demons,” he begs, scanning the area for Oni, who’s long gone.

 

Across the hall, Stein won't stop staring at the spot where the demon stood, though. When a frantic Marie materializes minutes later, he bends down to whisper something in her ear, prompting her to look in the general direction.

 

Soul gulps. Shibusen is _weird._ There's something… _rotten_ here. He doesn't voice it, but Maka probably agrees because she's been brushing off her sleeve constantly.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Nothing, Soul, I'm just itchy.”

 

It’s a lie -- he can tell by the way her eyes keep darting to her right, as if someone’s tapping on her shoulder to get her attention.

 

X

 

Wes feels like invisible hands are clawing at his insides. Five weeks into the search for Angela comes up empty. It's not _right_. The investigators haven't a single clue, can't even discern who had contact with the six year old last. Poor police work, to say the least, the sheriff leading the pack by missing days of work at a time and dismissing possible leads.

 

 “Why worry about it?” Masamune taunts him, making his eavesdropping known from the back of the shop.

 

At the counter beside Wes, Tsubaki mouths an apology to him, wincing with embarrassment at her brother's coldness. Wes rubs her neck in response, quickly dropping his hand and taking a giant step away from her when Masamune bursts out into the front.

 

“She's probably dead. She's not your child. Mind your business.”

 

Tsubaki gasps angrily. “That's a terrible thing to say!”

 

“It has nothing to do with morals, just facts, Tsubaki. He's wasting his time and feelings.”

 

“I disagree,” Wes interjects. “My heart hurts for her parents and I don’t regret feeling like this for a minute. She’s a _child_. She’s probably lost and scared, maybe even hurt. I refuse to lose hope. I _will_ find her and bring her back.”

 

But he never does because days after, Masamune vanishes too.

 

X

 


	4. won't beg you to stay, but i'll ask

 

Four months into her sentence, Maka’s shovel hits something _glassy_. By now she’s usually done with her hole by ten, so she had been aiming to set a new record today and be finished by nine. Being sidetracked by buried treasure in the form of a jar hadn’t been in the plan, though.

 

Soul, who had picked a spot to dig fifteen feet away from hers, walks over casually when he notices she’s no longer shoveling and complaining about the heat. “What's that supposed to be, Pigtails?”

 

“Uhh…” Maka scrapes the dirt off the jar’s sides with her fingernail, revealing raised ridges that form pattern she can't decipher, a faint blue glow emanating from within. Must be a reflection from the sun, she thinks… Except, dirt doesn't catch the sun like that. “Maybe it's a lightning bug?”

 

“A bug that survived all this time underground?”

 

Maka rolls his eyes at him, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Okay, what do _you_ think it is, silly?”

 

“Uhhh…” He jumps into the half dug hole, kneeling down beside her. “Maybe… A message in a bottle? Does it open?”

 

Try as she might, the lid doesn’t pop off. All she gains for her efforts are lightheadedness, inflamed blisters, and a blow to her ego.

 

“You’re going to give yourself a hernia. Step aside, let me handle this.” Soul’s bravado quickly wears off when he also fails to unscrew the lid. Apparently his last resort for redemption is to give up. “ _Ugh!_ It looks thousands of years old anyway. It's trash.”

 

“You're such a drama queen, Soul. It's not that old. I think I might keep it to hold my pens or something.”

 

She's so focused on rubbing off the grime buildup between the raised ridges that she doesn't notice a snake slithering toward her until it's inches away, jumping off the ground and barring its fangs. Paralyzed with fear and disbelief, Maka goes through the five stages of grief in a fraction of a second, regretting most that she hadn't hugged her papa back after the trial. Now it's too late --

 

But, the bite never comes. Before she can _think_ , Soul pushes her out of the way in a flash, falling on top of her and using his arm as a shield -- or, what _should_ be his arm. Time isn't on the snake's side. It has no choice but to dive into Soul's scythe limb, splitting in half and jerking to a standstill in the hole with them.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” he pants, awed, sliding a finger along the sharp side of the scythe. Then it's gone and he's a hundred percent warm flesh again.

 

X

 

“Does it hurt when you…transform?”

 

“Mmm…nope. It feels like waving my arm across a fire, but that's it. Pretty much the only painless thing in my life.”

 

Wonder lights up Maka's face, her lips pursing, the skin between her brows furrowing. It's _adorable_. If anything, Soul's frustration with himself heightens with every question she asks as they sit huddled in the library closet. The longer he waits for her rejection, the more he wants to believe that it won't come. She had seen him morph into something _inhuman_ with violent potential, and hasn't even scrunched her nose up at him like Jackie now does in his presence.

 

Comparing them isn't fair to any of them, though. Soul had pushed Jackie away by saying all those harsh things to her -- rejected her friendship even when she _tried_ to get over his abnormality, like when she cleaned him up after their fight. He probably deserves all the derision and taunting, it’s what he wanted, deep, deep, deep down… But _does_ he really? He asks Maka these questions, too, and opens the floodgates by confiding that he's felt been alone for a long time, about losing Jackie because she saw his scythe ability, which...

 

It hurt, and still does. There's no other word to describe it. Hurt.

 

“So… yeah, that's why she keeps using that word.” Ahh, he might cry. “ _‘Freak’_.”

 

“Maybe she's acting out because she's upset? I don't know… It's pretty extreme, it doesn't warrant the bullying. Nothing does.” Worrying her lip, Maka becomes entranced by the newspaper clippings in her lap. It's been _weeks_ since they read the first set because Stein and Marie have kept a constant vigil by the library, but the waiting hadn't amounted to anything. The other articles outline the first few disappearances, including that of a six year old, but none of them reveal _why_ or if bodies were ever found.

 

“Anyway,” Soul yawns, scanning the room for the Oni. He's been… _too_ quiet. “Uh -- I’m not…uh, I'm not _scary_ to you?”

 

“What?” Genuine shock flickers over her face. “No way! I mean, it’s _different_ , and will take some getting used to but… you’re you, and there’s no one like you. And that’s a good thing!”

 

His eyes water, and he turns his attention toward the shadow so she doesn’t see.

 

Maybe this is what Jackie was trying to convey all those months earlier when she took Soul to the infirmary, when she tried putting the pieces together for him. He's different and has his own challenges to battle. “ _Maybe the nightmares and weapon abilities are related?”_

Soul Evans feels like a _jerk_. Sure, it had been a self conscious, negative defense mechanism, but now he’s lost a friend.

 

“I think you should try talking to her. Doesn’t she seem… _off_ to you? I mean, I don’t know what she was like before the fight, but… I don’t know it seems -- Oh my _God_!” Maka cuts herself off to tug his sleeve out of the blue, pointing wildly to a newspaper article with a black and white picture of a dark, long haired man scowling into the camera. “He has the same surname as my mama's. Her maiden name was Nakatsukasa. She was--- uh… She _is_ part Japanese.”

 

“Wow, what a small world.” Though Soul doesn’t spot a resemblance between Maka and Masamune, he believes anything is possible. “Do you think you're related to him?”

 

“Maybe! Too bad we don't have internet access here, otherwise I would use a genealogy website or video call my papa to ask...”

 

Soul lacks the bravery required to ask how her relationship with her dad's been going, or ask more about what happened to her mom, but… Okay, there's nothing stopping him but _himself_. The words almost roll of his tongue but then he feels the ghostly presence that's been bothering Maka, too: a frantic tap on the shoulder, and it’s _not_ Oni.

 

X

 

Soul knew it would happen eventually. Someone else would find out about his secret, someone who he didn't trust. He just didn't think it would be so public, so _soon_.

 

One moment he's concentrating, willing his arm to transform so he can dig his hole and go back inside, and the next he's coming to in Stein’s office. The first thing he notices are the ceiling tilings, so pristine and white. Bit by bit everything else comes into focus: Maka’s green eyes after she exclaims, “He’s awake!” and rushes over to his bedside, an unimpressed Stein also hovering over him, and Oni in the corner cackling before escaping into the vents.

 

“I think he’s alive,” Stein announces.

 

“Welcome back,” Marie’s happy voice sings from somewhere to his right. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Dead…” An attempt to scratch his head results in hitting himself in the eye. “What happened?”

 

Maka smooths his hair back. “You passed out! It was so scary, I thought you had heat stroke or something.”

 

“Sorry,” Soul says, meaning it. For once, he’d like not to be a burden on anyone, especially Maka. She refuses to leave his bedside for the rest of the day, not falling for Marie’s cajoling or bribing with extra classes or tokens for the supplies store. Curfew finally successfully removes Maka from his side. The goodie-goodie in her can’t say no to _rules_ , even if it means pausing in the middle of reading her favorite poems from _The Sun and Her Flowers_ to him. 

 

It’s lonely in the infirmary. It’s just Soul, the lights from the equipment blinking in the darkness, and occasionally Oni and his current obsession with muttering about snakes. An insane thought whirls around in Soul's brain: what if the snakes _are_ something to be cautious of? After all, Ox’s left buttcheek hasn’t been the same since.

 

Stein walks in _late_ the next morning, patting his coat pocket -- probably in search of a cigarette. “Haven't been resting, have you? You look like you smeared baby diarrhea under your eyes.”

 

Soul’s eyes water from lack of sleep, so he bursts out giggling.

 

Shockingly, the doctor had been searching for a pen. He scribbles something on a notepad that Soul hopes the pharmacists mistakes for happy pills. “I’m going to write you a prescription for a sleeping aid. Don’t try to sell them as drugs. I don’t want to write more accident reports.”

 

“Great. Maybe I can finally get some peace.”

 

The hope that begins to bubble inside Soul dies as Stein goes on: “I doubt that. See, you're… _interesting_ , Soul. An interesting specimen. You have a unique soul. And your blood is _black_.”

 

X

 

Wes Evans had promised himself he would never settle down. Life in New York City had nurtured the idea that there were too many people in this world for him to pick only _one_ person to love. Yes, he believes in soulmates, but not in the way that most people regard them. Relationships aren’t meant to last forever. There are people destined to be in his life for only a certain stretch of the road, and that’s okay.

 

But now that he has Tsubaki, he can’t imagine life without her every day, just as she can’t imagine hers without her brother.

 

“I can’t believe this,” she had sobbed that first night Masamune didn’t return home. “First my parents and now _him_. I can’t do this anymore Wes, I can’t, I _won’t_!”

 

“He did mention wanting to move the shop to Las Vegas, maybe he went on a trip?” Wes suggests, his statement sounding far fetched to his own ears.

 

Tsubaki whimpers miserably, hyperventilating. Wes stays up with her, smoothing her hair back, boiling water for her tea. Nothing except pure fatigue finally wears her down. When they go to the police station to file a missing persons report, the sheriff grins as if he’s heard _good_ news. “All according to plan,” he tells them.

 

A string of colorful, creative swears escape Tsubaki’s mouth. Wes hooks his arms around her waist and carries her out kicking and screaming, the injustice of it all too ironic and cruel for her to process. “He knows _something,_ Wes, put me down!”

 

“No, you’ll wind up arrested.”

 

She passes out a day later from lack of sleep. Unable to watch her suffer for much longer, Wes runs to the apothecary to find an herbal remedy for her nerves, perhaps even track down a doctor.

 

But what he finds instead are two older women whispering in the corner by the candles.

 

“He’s a _witch_. I've told you before that Masamune was a rotten one.”

 

“That’s nonsense, Agatha! They were wiped out centuries ago during the Salem Witch Trials back east.”

 

“No, a few escaped prosecution, fled west, and still dabble in the dark arts.” The woman leans closer to the other, Wes consequently straining his ears to listen. “I’ve seen Masamune talking with the snakes -- it’s true, don’t laugh. He hisses at them and they hiss back just as you and I are talking right now.”

 

Now the woman’s terror is palpable. “Do you think he’s spoken with… Medusa Gorgon?”

 

“I’ve seen him leave her cottage.”

 

Wes contemplates giving himself away to ask where to find this woman named Medusa, but if the rumors are somehow true, he’d rather not entangle these women in his problems.

 

“I do truly feel sorry for him,” the woman continues. “His heart has become cold since his parents passed.”

 

And all that goes against what Wes Evans believes in: human connections, feeling every emotion gifted to him in this life, keeping both his heart and mind open. Now he’ll have to master the art of mental gymnastics to believe that Masamune not only fell victim to a _witch_ , but is now working with her, involved in a heinous kidnapping… Wes _had_ spied Masamune speaking to someone cloaked by the shadows a few weeks ago.

 

Could this madness be _true_?

 

No matter the hardship, Wes _vows_ to find Masamune and change his view on the world -- he fears Tsubaki might not survive if her brother doesn’t return, if only in the physical sense.

 

X

 

The day after Soul is discharged from the infirmary, Maka receives a letter:

 

_Dear Maka:_

_My sweet little Maka! Thank you for writing me every week. I've been missing my sweet angel and I've been thinking about you everyday. I've still been watering the flowers and feeding the cat just like you tell me in all your letters! I’ve been lonely with you here but Blake drops by after work to play video games with me. Oh that’s right he is now an employed young man!! Who would have thought? We're so close to winning your appeal because we gave our lawyer pictures of your mama wearing the necklace and it turns out that the store who reported it stolen... also stole it somehow. LOL._

_But anyway I'm not sure if I should tell you angel but I think I finally have a lead on what happened to your mama! I don't want to jinx it but I thought the news would put a smile on your face and cheer you up._

_KEEP YOUR FINGERS CROSSED! I love you to the moon and back my sweet angel please keep smiling and stay sweet. See you soon!!_

__  
Love and hugs,  
  


_Your papa!!_

Poor, poor _stupid_ Papa. Maka isn’t aware that she’s sobbing until she can’t breathe, choking on the cries caught in her throat. Doesn’t he realize that if that first person stole it, then it could mean her mama was mugged, possibly killed during that crime? It would make sense -- her mama would have _never_ left without saying goodbye, wouldn’t be gone this long without at least sending a postcard.

 

The only thing that makes sense is Papa’s word choice. He wrote ‘what happened to your mama’... not ‘where your mama is’.

 

X

 

Sometimes Wes thinks he’s lost his mind. Two weeks of exhausting his resources to track down Medusa Gorgon has left him reeling. Questioning the townsfolk without causing alarm was quite a challenge, but now he’s full of information and confident in his next course of action.

 

And for the first time in his life, he's _terrified_. The two women's gossip has come to life: Masamune is lost to black magic, to a reclusive woman who lost her medical license because the majority of her patients reported malpractice and suspicious coincidences, such as losing eyes and limbs during freak accidents at her office.

 

It doesn't hurt to _test_ the theory. If it's not true, Wes can apologize, blame his outburst on stress from work, and go about his day… but if it's _true_ , then…

 

Wes waits for Tsubaki to close the shop before kissing her hard, _deep_ , wishing he could take the sorrow away from her.

 

Maybe he can.

 

When they pull away, he reads confusion on her face at his gesture.

 

“Listen, I have something important to tell you, Tsubaki. But first…promise me something.”

 

X

 

Soul decides on a whim to take Maka’s advice. Why _not_ set the record straight with Jackie? It might not restore their friendship, but at least he'll find some closure. He doesn’t even think about what he's going to say. The idea pops into his head while he’s heaving dirt from his shovel, and he goes with the flow, wandering over to her hole.

 

The hard part is actually figuring out what to say.

 

She spits, adjusting her cap. “What do _you_ want?”

 

He shrugs. “To say I'm sorry I guess. And to tell you to calm down.”

 

Jackie doesn’t even _look_ like herself anymore. The lively shine of her hair has given way to frizz and knots, as if she hasn’t properly combed her hair in weeks. She kind of… reminds Soul of _himself_ , a little of a crazed, unrested sheen in her eyes. “Say that again.”

 

Every cell in his body is telling him to turn around and stop. Maybe she’s a lost cause. But he’s not going to give up that easily. “I said, you need to calm down, you’ve been acting like a banshee ever since we got into a fight. I’m sorry… Sorry I said those things to you. I wasn’t think--”

 

The statements rings true when he’s interrupted by Jackie’s fist colliding with his lip for the second time. He hits the ground, Jackie right on top of him, nails out and clawing at his face. Their combined yelling summons the other campers, though none of them find amusement in the scene for once. Kilik moves to slide Soul out from under Jackie while Patti wrestles her into submission like a _pro_. Even Liz looks impressed, but in a blink her grin contorts into stupefaction, her mouth hanging open in a mute scream. She points a trembling finger at Jackie, who’s using Soul’s hair as a tug rope while Patti and Kilik struggle to tear her off.

 

“Jackie, _stop!_ He’ll end up bald and they don’t sell toupees at the school store!”

 

“Seriously,” Kilik grumbles.

 

Liz manages a squeal of undeniable terror. “ _SNAKE_!”

 

A sandy, taupe-colored thick rope hurtles inches past Soul’s face. Jackie’s screams split the sky as it slithers away as if its job has been completed, ignoring the other panicking teens. By now, Maka and Ox reach the group from the other side of the campgrounds, Maka chanting _no, no, no, no, no_ like a prayer and Ox cupping his behind.

 

“DID IT GET HER ON THE BUTTCHEEK TOO?”

 

“It got her on the wrist, Ox, shut up!”

 

“Sissy's right, this is _serious_!”

 

“And my bite wasn’t!?”

 

“Give her room to breath,” Kilik shouts while Maka runs to Free, who's watching from the water truck in the distance. The man is too far away to say for certain, but Soul would bet his right hand that he was grinning.

 

X

 

Less than an hour later, a mix of sweat and tears roll down Soul's nose as he runs down the infirmary hall in search of Jackie. He would have been by her side this whole time if it hadn't been for Free not allowing Soul to leave the campground until his hole was completely dug. Sure, there is next to nothing he could do for her, but this is all his _fault_.

 

Stein’s voice carries from the last room to the right:  “Too bad she won't die. I'm too great of a doctor and inadvertently saved her.”

 

“You really should have been a medical examiner,” Shaula sneers, stepping out into the hallway. “I'm not sure if you know your job is to _save_ lives. I need these kids alive and kicking so they can dig for me.” With that, she adjusts her floppy hat and snaps forward, ready to storm away but is momentarily taken aback at seeing Soul. “And what are _you_ doing here? You're filthy. Take a shower.”

 

“My… Jackie. Snake,” he pants, hands on his knees to catch his breath from sprinting. “Visit.”

 

“Yes, I suppose you can visit while you still can…” When Soul peers at her through his bangs, she responds with a venomous smirk. “Everyone's time at this camp is running out starting _now_.”

 

“But…” He swallows, wishing he had a cold glass of water. “I don't want to go home.”

 

“You won't.”

 

And then she's off, long flowy skirt dancing around her black cowboy boots. Soul waits until she's out of sight to question Stein, but the doctor shakes his head from his rolly chair.

 

“Whatever your questions are, the answers are: I don't know, no, yes she'll live, and no I don't know what your friend’s anger problem is about.” Turning the screw lodged in his head, Stein slumps back thoughtfully. “Maybe that necklace she's been wearing was too tight around her neck. I took it, just in case Shaula didn't approve.”

 

All Soul can do is lean against the doorframe, stifling down his anxiety.

 

“Don't go near her, Soul. Your blood is back.”

 

“What are you talking abou -- _ugh_ , okay, yeah. Whatever.”

 

Everyone and everything here at Shibusen is _weird_. Stein reminds Soul too much of Oni and his cryptic rants. No thanks.

 

X

 

Confronting the witch is easier said than done.

 

Wes is risking his _life_ to come out here. Medusa Gorgon’s unkempt wooden house resembles a shipwreck in the middle of a dried up sea, miles away from anyone or anything. From what Wes learned, she’s lived here since before the first settlers founded Death City. How she survived without a nearby source of water or food inspired doubts about her origins. Supernatural creatures don't require the same basic needs for survival as humans, after all. Adding to the mystery are claims that the woman appears untouched by time, never _aging_ according to those who've caught sight of her as children and then again as adults.

 

Wes parks his car thousands of feet away from the front door, catching sight of rattlesnakes curled up along the house as if guarding it.

 

“Wish me luck,” he says aloud, not expecting an answer. Once he reaches the porch, the temptation to look back almost overcomes him, but he uses all of his will to knock instead.

 

The door creaks open, as if by invisible hands.

 

“Hello, pardon me…” Wes pushes his way inside, shaking off baby spiders after walking right into a huge spider web. There's a click behind him that signals the door closing, the light vanishing. “I've come for your help…”

 

It’s so dark inside he can’t see his hands in front of him. He hadn’t noticed the _windowless_ state of the house, nor the bulky dining table in the middle of the room until he topples over it. How _odd_. A nasty cackle echoes from wall to wall as he pulls himself together, fighting off the sensation of a snake slithering itself around his feet.

 

“I need your _help_!” Grinding his teeth, Wes balls his hands into fists, choosing to be angry about having to beg, for having to come here to ebb Tsubaki’s suffering. “You have someone important--”

 

“Someone important to someone who means the world to you,” a voice finishes, bored. “I’ve never heard this story before. I’m impressed. No one has knocked on my door in centuries…”

 

“It’s true. Tsubaki means everything to me. She’s my life.”

 

Thick silence.

 

Wes squints into the nothingness, straining his ears to listen for movement or the source of the voice. “I know you have Masamune.”

 

“I possess many souls,” Medusa corrects. “I collect them. I'm searching for the right soul to recharge my Death scythe, you see. I can kill whoever I please with it at full power.”

 

_Good, keep talking_ , Wes thinks, praying to God that the witch can't hear his thoughts. Nevermind the utter madness spilling out of her mouth -- he'd betray the world to ease Tsubaki’s pain. “I assure you Masamune isn't the right one for your. Give him back.”

 

“No. He's _mine_.”

 

Snakes, snakes everywhere. Slithering up Wes’s pant leg, around his neck, his waist. Reminding himself that it's a mind game doesn't quell the fear boiling in his stomach.

 

Medusa Gorgon is ruthless. “And now you're mine, all _mine_ , too…”

 

Wes can't help but beg. “What if I gave you my soul in exchange for his?”

 

The world stops abruptly, the witch's curiosity tangible. “Your soul for his?”

 

“My soul for his,” Wes confirms, heart threatening to thump out of his chest.

 

“Why would you do that for someone you've only recently met?” Yellow eyes open in the darkness, staring him down. “Someone who might not love you forever…you don’t believe in happily ever after, do you, Wes Evans?”

 

His blood runs cold, a chill running down his spine and freezing him on the spot. _Does_ she read minds? If she does, his mission will be in vain. He’ll fail Tsubaki, fail _Masamune_ \--

 

“Why would a level headed young man such as yourself surrender everything for _love_?”

 

That’s so easily answered but much harder to articulate. Wes knew from the moment he saw Tsubaki: he would fall in love with her as time passed and they shared their struggles with one another, shared their dreams and nightmares. Yes, she’s physically beautiful, but that pales in comparison to her gentleness, her softness, her _empathy_.

 

Her soul.

 

“Yes, I’ll gladly sacrifice myself for her happiness. Tsubaki needs her brother more than she needs me.”

 

The truth hurts Wes, but Witch Medusa finds it amusing. “The fire I started didn’t gather enough souls to awaken my weapon…but Masamune was a step in the right direction. His hatred runs deep and serves as fuel for my weapon. Why should I trade him for you?”

 

A ray of light beams into the house from behind Wes, who gulps before whirling around.

 

“Wes?” Tsubaki stands there in the light, perplexed, unshed tears in her eyes. “You knew what Masamune was up to…you knew this whole time?”

 

Medusa cackles. “Drop the act. My snakes told me you brought her along, Wes…”

 

Dread hits him like a brick upon realizing that she's known his and Tsubaki’s plan this whole time, that his plan was fated to meet disaster from the start.

 

But he's never been one to give up.

 

“I see everything through my snakes,” Medusa hisses. “They saw her hiding in the car. She's been listening this whole time…”

 

Wes knows it's now or never. “I came here to say I'd rather live my life with you, Medusa! I swear it.”

 

The snakes stop tightening their grip on him. Tsubaki gasps, trembling against the doorknob, which jiggles in her hands.

 

It's now or never. He throws himself at Medusa’s feet, groveling, suffering. “You can make me immortal, can't you? With you, I can live forever. I won't need a happy ending because there won't be an ending.”

 

Only half of Medusa’s face is visible, but the crazed look in her eyes overtakes him for a moment, voices screaming in his head. The bones in his arm _burn_. Death is inevitable, death will be his only escape. The ground trembles like an earthquake, Wes knocked to his knees in front of her. Pressure builds up in his head, blurring his vision to the point he expects his eyeballs to explode. Fire engulfs his entire body and then the pain is _over_ \-- and his arm isn't his anymore, isn't human. It's metal, cold and unfeeling.

 

But _powerful_.

 

“Is _that_ what you want, Wes? To be my weapon, my lifeline?” Blood drops from Medusa’s teeth as if she's bitten into a live animal. “Imagine your whole _being_ a weapon, the ability to shift between human and weapon!”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Wes agrees, giving into the insanity.

 

Tsubaki runs up to him, holding on to his hand. “I won't beg you to stay, but I'll ask you, Wes -- I love you, _please_ don't leave me?”

 

The snakes crawl to their master, inserting themselves into her head like strands of hair. She beckons Wes over, his legs moving without his consent, Tsubaki trailing along. Mere inches from the witch, Wes licks his lips, noting his new, unusually pointy teeth.

 

“ _Now_ , Tsubaki!”

 

Tsubaki’s grip on Wes is determined and steadfast as the rest of his body morphs into a scythe at his command, swinging him through the air and through _her_ like a knife through butter. Medusa slumps against the flowery wallpaper, black blood gurgling from her mouth.

 

“Don't think you've defeated me…I'll live on in your blood, in your nightmares…you'll never be able to use your weapon powers as you wish.”

 

She dies laughing, her yellow eyes staring unblinkingly at them, gleaming with lifelessness. Human again in a blinding flash, Wes nudges her with the toe of his shoe to ensure she's gone for good, half expecting her to reawaken and grab him by the ankle. But Medusa never moves, not even as Wes lights a match and sets her and the house on fire.

 

It's poetic justice, he thinks.

 

When Wes brushes his hands off and kneels next to Tsubaki, who is still snifflinf and cradling Masamune’s soul in the jar she had found in Wes’s car. “He'll never be the same, will he, Wes?”

 

X

 


	5. i'm going to be lonely

The trouble had started on Maka’s sixteenth-and-a-half birthday on August 14th, when she'd opened her gift from her childhood friend Blake.

 

“This necklace looks just like my mama’s! Right down to the cherub pendant, it's _perfect!_ ”  
   
Blake glowed, satisfied with himself. Not the kind that he flashed after he was caught red-handed tagging the high school last week or playing ding dong ditch at fifteen, but one that radiated pride and something softer like…affection, much like the sibling she never had.  
   
“This is the sweetest gift ever. Like, _ever_. Not even everything my papa has done is this…” her voice caught and she was forced to fall silent instead of letting tears flow.  
   
“Don't start the waterworks,” he pleaded, half joking, half with that big-brotherly tone that he used to use when they were little and she scraped her knee skateboarding together. “Your old man loves you, you know? Won't shut up about you and would give you the world. He'd even bring back your mom if he could.”  
   
That cut deep. Maka almost choked on the whimper that threatened to escape her lips but soothed it away by thinking about her succulents and flowers and stuffed animals lounging on her bed. Most of them were gifts from Papa, so that only inspired more tears, and she wrestled them away by throwing her arms around Blake.  
   
“You're the best,” she sniffled.  
   
“I _know_ I'm the best.”  
  
But he wasn't. Far from it.

 

Hours later, she couldn't ignore the suspicious glances thrown their way at the mall.   
  
“Why is everyone staring at me?” Maka shot a dirty look to the passing couple pointing to her necklace and whispering excitedly to each other.  
   
Blake stiffened, brows furrowing and then spiking up once the gears in his head click. He cursed under his breath, yanking her by the wrist and dragging her behind him as he took off down the sidewalk. “We gotta get out of here!”  
   
“Why? Just -- calm _down_ , wait, my sandal fell off!”  
   
“Forget it!”  
   
“No, forget _you_! The pavement is hot enough to fry an egg, and it's doing the same to my foot!”  
   
“Don't be a baby,” Blake said, not unkindly. “Just listen to me, I’m actually being serious for once. I… I’m so sorry, Maka... I stole that necklace.”  
  
Maka wished she would stop feeling. “What?”

  
“Please don't blow my spot, Maks. You know I'm on probation. I could go to jail! It would mess up my life. I'd go crazy in there.”  
   
“You _buffoon_!” Maka had seen red, seen his antics in her mind like a movie. All the visits to the principal for inciting playground fights, all the suspensions, all the mischief… Blake had never played by the rules, so why would he start now?   
  
She was frantic. Suddenly the most thoughtful gift she received, the one thing that made her feel closest to her mama, felt tainted, _wrong_. It could even take her away from Papa, and the thought itself made her choke on a poignant lump in her throat for a fleeting moment. “I have a record too, Blake!”  
   
“At _school_ ,” he scoffed. “For turning in library books late. I’m eighteen, the cops don’t play around with kids like me!”  
   
The words had burst out of her before she could think: “Then why did you steal it!?”  
   
“Because you’ve been so emo and mopey and sad, and I wanted you to feel better! And I didn’t think it would be such a big deal, the jewelry store has so many necklaces to begin with--”  
   
Maka’s blood stopped cold despite the summer heat. Watching the news wasn’t a habit of hers, but a few weeks ago, during a strained father-daughter TV dinner, they sat through a report about an after-hours break-in a month earlier in the next town over. It’s hard not to connect the dots.

 

“Jewelry store?” she echoed.  
   
“Yeah, Maks.” Blake sounded tired, drained, like he was coming apart at the seams from holding in a secret.  
   
“Did you…” Her hands shake as she holds him by the shoulders. “ _God_ , was that you?”  
   
“Things are tough lately. Since Sid died, money’s been tight, and after I paid some bills I didn't have enough money for your gift back in February… I had to, okay?” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Drop it Maka, we have to get rid of the evidence and run!”  
   
“No!” She was shrill, face hot, eyes wet. “It would be like leaving my mama behind, Blake, what’s wrong with you?”  
   
He was incredulous. “That I don’t want to go to jail! And you’re not getting in trouble.” Sticking his head out to watch out for patrol cars, he turned to her, dead serious. “Look, I have a plan. We’re going to run for it. You jump the fence and only take the alleys to your house. I’ll go the other way.”  
   
“Sure,” she agreed, clutching the pendant.  
   
Blake noticed and frowned. “And leave the necklace under those pallets, I’ll come back for it tonight. Promise me you’ll leave it behind for now, Maks.”  
  
Though she had nodded and left, she didn’t leave it behind. She was caught red-handed and arrested on the spot the next day, when she wore the necklace to school, of all places.  
  
That’s what she tells Soul when they’re out digging holes the next day, and she can’t believe how good it feels, again, to share a little more of her sorrow.  


X

 

Curiosity kills Soul’s relationship with Maka Albarn.

 

He knew it would happen, but it didn't prepare him for the hurt.   
  
She's not subtle about wanting to know why he's in Shibusen, and they're pretty evenly matched because he's just as blunt about _not_ wanting to talk about it.   
  
“So,” she says on a Tuesday evening when they're both sitting on the back steps to the rec center, crocheting for their home economics class. At first, something about being alone with Maka had twisted his stomach into knots, but now her company is better than anything he's ever experienced.

 

That means, according to his bad luck, that he's fated to lose her somehow.   
  
 “So,” he echoes, guiding his needling through his skull patterned cloth he picked out for his pillow case.   
  
When she sighs that one syllable word again, Soul braces himself for an uncomfortable conversation.   
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
Maybe playing dumb will draw out the inevitable. “Because I like spending time with you,” comes out before he can think twice.   
  
Pink watercolors her cheeks, her eyes wide, her mouth curved into a perfect o, her fingers frozen. She's not even breathing. It sinks in that he was too truthful because he feels heat creeping over his face, too. Deep down -- maybe more surface level, but he won't let himself think about it -- he knows what he meant by that offhand remark. Maybe Maka suspects too, and that thought makes his pulse quicken like he's being chased by a rabid squirrel. Ugh. Feelings are gross, why is this happening to him? She's the best thing that’s come into his life, and he refuses to mess that up. No, no, never.   
  
She recovers before he does, pursing her lips like a disapproving librarian torn between laughing and scolding. “No, silly, I mean, what made them lock you up here?”  
  
He looks down to his work, wondering why the hell he’s getting his hopes up talking to this intelligent, caring, sassy girl, knowing they won’t see each other once they’re out. The pessimist in him wants to close the door on this relationship right now.   
  
“Nunya.”  
  
“That’s mature,” she chides, rolling her eyes. “I’ve told you so much, but you haven’t told me anything.”  
  
“Your opening up doesn’t mean I owe you anything. It’s not a trading game.”  


Maka’s eyebrows hike up _fast_. “That’s not what I meant. I want us to be really open with each other--”

 

He’s defensive. “I have been. This kind of stuff is hard for me, okay? You’re not the only one with daddy issues.”

 

_That_ has steam blowing out of Maka’s ears. She stammers and fumbles with her words, her hands balling into fists. Soul expects one of them to make contact with his face any minute now, but instead she storms off, pigtails swinging behind her as if waving goodbye. After that, all that is left for Soul to do is congratulate himself for single-handedly killing another one of his relationships.

 

Ugh.

 

Maybe he shouldn’t have diminished her feelings about her dad…

 

“Maka,” he calls, running after her, eventually catching up to her outside of the warden’s trailer. “Wait. I'm… Sorry.”

 

“I thought we were _friends,_ Soul!” She refuses to look at him, instead peering inside the warden’s car. “I told you my problems with my papa and now you're going around throwing my words in my face!”

 

When she says it like that, he really does sound like a downright butthole. “I'm so sorry Maka. It just--happened, I don't have an excuse. I always try to hurt people before they hurt me. It's a defense mechanism, but not an excuse.”

 

But she's not listening, instead testing the driver side door, a devilish look on her face when she finds it unlocked.

 

Soul rambles on, self reflecting on his behavior as fast as he can. “I'm working on that in therapy. Marie says she notices I either try to make everything into a joke or say something to make people go away when they try to confront me with something ser--WHAT ARE YOU _DOING_?”

 

Never did he think he'd watch Maka Albarn, bookworm superstar extraordinaire, hot wire a _car_ , but he's sure he's awake because for once Oni isn't bothering him… so, does that mean he's dreaming?

 

This is so _unreal_.

 

“I'm putting to use a skill I learned from my friend Blake and I'm running away. I'm sick and _tired_ of it here. I'm going _home_ and finding my mama! Don't come after me.”

 

Maka slides into the seat, scooting it closer to adjust to her small frame. She salutes him before revving the engine and speeding off, the warden flying out of her trailer and after Maka, though it's no use. The car soon disappears into the horizon.

 

“Spoiled _BRAT_ , get back here!” Shaula Gorgon then cups her hands around her mouth like she's yelling into a megaphone. “ _DIE_ OUT THERE FOR ALL I CARE!”

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Soul breathes.

 

X

 

Tsubaki insists on digging her own brother’s grave once all of their efforts to restore his soul fail. What's a soul without a body? They couldn't find what remained of him…

 

“He’ll be safer underground than above ground. Maybe the Earth will cleanse him. Too bad there aren’t any flowers nearby…”

 

Wes doesn't tell her that nothing would ever grow here again. When he and Tsubaki returned from Medusa’s house, they discovered that the people in the town were _gone_ , their souls taken by the witch as an act of revenge before she died. They're all lingering around, tapping Wes and Tsukubi on the shoulder, pleading for release from their limbo. Instead of acknowledging them, he plays a song on the violon in honor of her fallen brother, holding back tears when she presents him with a cherub pendant necklace.

 

“It's a charm,” she explains, hopeful. “I had it blessed. It'll keep you safe from Medusa’s curse.”

 

Wes shakes his head. He’s had enough magic for a lifetime. “No, you wear it, and wear it forever. I’ll be fine.”

 

X

 

It's Soul's routine that kept him sane and prevents his feelings from swallowing him whole.

 

Wake up.

 

Dig holes.

 

Shower.

 

Eat.

 

Sleep.

 

Repeat.

 

Somehow he manages to ignore the sense of dread that Maka is probably dead.

 

Somehow he manages to make it to the bed without opening the letter she receives from her father the day after she ran away. What is Soul supposed to tell him, that she's _gone?_

Somehow he manages to ignore the screaming match between the warden and Dr. Mjolnir. It had drawn all the campers to the warden’s trailer, minus Soul. Marie had accused the warden of negligence, child abuse, and slavery, and Shaula shrieked herself hoarse about ending the doctor's career over an ‘indecent workplace relationship.’ _That_ shocked Marie into silence, who declared war before retreating.

 

On the second day after Maka left, an enervated Jackie mutely sits next to him at breakfast. Soul begins to think she's turned a new leaf when she yanks on his arm as if to trigger a transformation, her mean streak then worsening throughout the day. Since being released from the infirmary, it's like she's _possessed_. On his way to the bathroom, he literally topples over the warden, who shoots him a look that could _kill_.

 

“Sorry, Ms. Gorgon--”

 

“Watch where you're going,” she snaps before moving on.

 

Retreating to the campgrounds to avoid both her and Jackie isn’t a break because it’s so _hot_. He’s sweating and irritated at everyone _pitying_ him. Liz keeps wandering over to help shovel dirt out of his hole, Patti hurled a rock at a snake heading for him, Ox stopped complaining about his buttcheek for a second to offer Soul a single grape, and for once Soul isn't _thirsty_ because Liz refilled his canteen when the water truck came by. Even Kilik, whose kindness knew no bounds to begin with, goes the extra mile to sit with him at dinner and play Uno. Soul isn't sure why everyone's being so _nice_ to him, but the realization that he's _not_ being bullied is a new, foreign feeling.

 

The campers’ gentleness hurts, too.

 

Aside from the letter addressed to Maka, it's like she never existed. It’s relieving and disappointing at the same time, but more than anything it’s numbing. No one seems to care about her except _him_ and a handful of others: Liz, Patti, Kilik. The weekend comes by and Soul finds himself laying in his bed feeling utterly bored, the kind that makes him want to pick at his skin. His laundry is piling up, he should sign up for some classes to take up his time, but all the energy had been drained out of his body. Instead of getting up, he stays in bed, utilizing his remaining energy to annoy Oni by trying to kick him off the bed.

 

“You're not real, you're just a figment of my imagination and probably a subconscious reflection of a part of me that I can't stand and am desperately trying to detach myself from but must face if I want to feel better and begin healing.”

 

Oni steps on Soul's chest bone, stomping and dancing on him. This must be what it feels like to have someone dance on his grave, Soul thinks. “ _My master is returning soon, just wait and see_ ,” he keeps cooing. “ _Then the grand snake will eat you alive_.”

 

“Please and thanks,” Soul mutters.

 

Cold, skinny hands grab either side of Soul's face, Oni’s pointy nose dragging across Soul's. Ugh. “ _No, you will not enjoy it. Your soul will be hers, and your skin will become metal for all eternity. It's your destiny, your curse._ ”

 

Once he fights off Oni for a little bit by kicking him hard enough in the nose, Soul makes his way to Stein’s office, rehearsing a plea for stronger sleeping aids. He's not actively _trying_ to become an addict or anything, but those magic pills provide the only reprieve from both his thoughts and demons. If it means he has to be unconscious, then so be it.

 

Soul's talent for overhearing conversations absolutely stuns him sometimes. When he arrives at the infirmary, he finds the door ajar, Marie's despondent voice coming from within.

 

“What are the chances of someone surviving out there this long, Frank?”

 

Poking his head into the room, Soul sees Marie and the doctor a little _too_ close: hugging. “Zero chances, unfortunately.”

 

“I found the warden’s car crashed into a hole twenty miles away. I've searched all over and couldn't find her though... Maybe she found refuge somewhere in the desert?”

 

Stein puffs on his cigarette thoughtfully. “Maybe. There are too many souls out there… I can't pinpoint hers, they're all blurring together. She's fading away.”

 

Marie buries her face in her hands and weeps.

 

“Come in, Soul,” the doctor says as he rubs her back, the gesture sure and gentle. Intimate.

 

“Uhhm…” Soul knocks before entering even though his cover has been blown somehow. “Sorry to interrupt. Is -- is it true?! Is she… dead?”

 

“If she were, I would have found a body.” Marie swallows thickly. “I know she's still out there.”

 

“Why doesn't the warden send a search party out there, or call _someone_ for help, _anyone?”_

“Because she would fall under a lot of suspicion over how she's running this place.” Bitterness laces Marie’s voice. “It's not a camp, it's a _work_ _prison_.”

 

A pang of hopelessness hits Soul so hard he vomits on the spot.

 

X

 

Running away would be infinitely cooler if he had an audience like Maka did, but it’s three in the morning and all he has is Oni. Insomnia fuels his spontaneous trip, glad that he's smart enough to stuff his backpack with snacks and water bottles he stole from the cafeteria.

 

“ _I’m staying here, there are snakes snakes snakes out there, and I must stay with my master,”_ the little traitor rambles. He’s rocking back and forth in the shovel shed, pinstripe suit covered in dust and torn as if he’d recently been in a struggle. Never would Soul have thought he’d feel abandoned by his own demon, but if this doesn’t prove that he can’t count on _anyone_ , this is it.

 

“Fine, be that way.” The irony is that Soul kind of _wanted_ his demon to come along, if nothing else for the company. “Save my wanted poster for me, I want to see it when I get back.”

 

“ _Ooo you’ll be wanted_ , _yes yes_ ,” Oni says gleefully, chewing on his hand. “ _My master's grand daughter will want you **caught DEAD** , not alive_!”

 

X

 

Soulmates are temporary. Wes resigns himself to this fact two years after burying Masamune, two years of lost sleep thanks to surreal night terrors and accidental public scythe transformations, sometimes all of that rolled into one night. He had almost stabbed Tsubaki through the abdomen a few times when she tried to wake him from a nightmare.

 

It's too much. He's tired, worn down. Tsubaki was worth the effort, still _is_ worth the effort and always will _be_ worth the effort, but he can't do this anymore.

 

He'll _die_.

 

_She'll_ die.

 

Medusa won, after all: he's miserable, Tsubaki is miserable, and they'll never be happy as long as they're together.

 

The breakup is neither explosive nor bitter. After a long day at the bank, Wes shrugs on his coat and heads home, where Tsubaki turns to look at him as he walks through the door. The way her eyebrows knit let on that she knows something is definitely wrong. “Are you okay? Did someone die?”

  
“No. Listen, Tsubaki…” A pause. He remembers telling her the same exact thing when he broke the news about Masamune and Medusa. “We have to talk.”

  
But they don’t need to talk. They both know he’s ending this, ending _them_.

  
“So... that’s it, then?” she asks, though it’s not really a question. When Wes meets her eyes he sees defeat, sadness, remorse.

  
Wes shrugs. A strange apathy settles in his chest. “You mean the world to me…but we’re not meant to be together. I don’t know. I still love you, though.”

  
 “I still love you, too.”

 

Then they’re hugging. Wes squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into her neck. When they finally break apart, he makes a vow to himself, one he knows he can keep: to live.  


X

 

There’s nothing for miles around, and even though Soul hasn’t taken a break since he ran away, the mountains in the distance don’t appear to be getting any nearer. For a while he walks east, coming across a cracked, ashy foundation of what must have once been a house. Then he decides to head north, the land so flat it’s probably leveled. By midday Soul is able to see an overturned wagon in the distance. At first he approaches it as a hope for shelter from the merciless sun, but he notices a lump lays by it, a shoe at the end of it…

 

What if it's --

 

Who else could it be?

 

“Maka!”

 

The leg doesn’t move. Soul’s stomach _plummets_. He's been calling out for her so long his throat is sore.

 

“Maka?” His voice cracks this time. Crying has become an automatic response lately, so he's not shocked that tears stream down his face as he runs toward the remains of the carriage. “Maka! MAKA! _PIGTAILS_! CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

 

She _moves_ then, rolling over and backing out from under the overturned wagon. “SOUL!”

 

When running doesn't carry him to her fast enough, he slides to her like a baseball player into first base. She throws herself on him, the two hugging.

 

“You're alive?!”

 

Maka pinches her own cheeks and pats herself down. “I think so. Are you really _here_?”

 

“Probably. How are you still _alive_?”

 

“Pure bullheadedness.” God, her smile is so bright and beautiful. “I've been hiding under the wagon during the day and I had water in my canteen… but it's almost empty, and it was getting hard to ignore the hunger.”

 

After she guides him under the wagon, proud of her luck for surviving out in the desert for so long, Soul tries to burst her bubble gently. “Maka… You know we have to go back.”

 

“No!” she snaps, pigtails flying with her rage. “Never.”

 

 “We’ll starve. We'll _die._ ”

 

“I'll never find my mama if we go back to Shibusen! And yeah I know it's going to be hard getting out of the desert now that I crashed the car, but I have to go back to my papa. I'll be a fugitive, I don't care! I can't stay there any longer. I need my _mama_!”

 

“I'll help you find her,” Soul promises, tucking a stray hair out of her eyes. “But we have to go back to camp.”

 

“NO!”

 

And that’s the end of their discussion. She _humphs_ , crosses her arms, and edges to the other side of the wagon. Jeez, it’s like arguing with a toddler. They don’t talk to each other for an hour, Soul debating if he should drag her back to safety or make his way to Shibusen and tell on her.

 

But he decides on honesty:

 

“You know, since you left… it's been hell. Every time I closed my eyes, every second I was awake, I thought about you. I couldn’t even _eat_. At first, I thought it was because I was so _mad_ at myself for being a jerk, but then I realized it was more than that.” He takes a breath, finally looking into Maka’s eyes. “It took a while to realize that… I missed _you_.” He takes a deep, long breath. “I don't know. Guess I’m pathetic for pushing everyone away, when all I want is to be close to people…to you.”

 

He scoots closer to Maka, giving out a hollow laugh before continuing. “I decided that I’m tired of being alone, and that I’m going to do something about it. So I came to look for you.”

 

He scoots toward Maka, his movements carrying a sense of purpose. When he's within reach, Soul reaches his hand out to her as a truce, but she cups his face and pecks his cheek.

 

It's so _gentle_.

 

It’s clumsy, and full of adoration.

 

He's burning _up_.

 

“I missed you, too,” she says, and he responds with a kiss to her forehead. The gesture opens the floodgates; Maka bursts into sobs, clutching onto the front of his t-shirt. “I'm so glad you're here, that I'm not alone…”

 

X

 

Night falls. The stars are bright and distant. They’ll disappear at dawn, much like Maka fully expected Soul to do after that _kiss_. She figured he’d be afraid -- just, afraid of what could change between them now, that she’ll reject him some time down the line, but he’s the same as ever: quiet, thoughtful, attentive, and cautious.

 

“You sleep first, and I’ll keep watch,” he says. “Don’t want any _snakes_ to sneak up on us.”

 

He hums so the desert isn’t so deafeningly quiet, falling silent when she goes still. But sleep doesn’t come; the floor is too hard and bumpy, and Soul’s thoughts are too loud.

 

“Hey Maka, are you awake?”

 

“Mhm.”  
  
“...I ran away.”  
  
She cracks her eyes open, barely making out his figure in the darkness. Disappointment is not being able to look into his eyes and cherish the vulnerability he's showing her. The night makes things easier to say, less scary, less real. “You didn't run away from the camp, though? I did.”  
  
“No, silly, I did. I ran away from home. That's why I'm here, with the honor of sleeping on this dumb hard ground with you. I ran away from home.”  
  
Is it wrong of her to smile at this? Not only is he finally opening up to her, but he's using that term of affection they save only for each other, and he's indirectly saying he's enjoying being lost in the desert with her -- right? And above all else, he's being himself: a little scared, a little brave, all at once.   
  
“In case you haven't noticed, I'm a freak of nature -- no, Maka, it's fine... let me finish, okay?”  
  
Gulping down the lump in her throat doesn’t work, it’s too sour. Hearing the hurt in his voice, the rawness, the utter dislike toward himself -- it’s too much for her, but this isn’t about her. In a way, he’s recounting his story for himself, and she’s a witness. She nods, and he must feel her in the darkness because he goes on.   
  
“I’ve always been… weird. And it’s not just the thing with my arm. I look weird. Uh…” he coughs. “I don’t dye my hair, you know. Everybody thinks I do but… I just let them think that because it made me sound cool and not _weird._ My hair is just white. Always has been, always will be.”  
  
Something about that statement tugs at her heartstrings -- he’ll never change. Soul will grow and change as the years come and go, but he'll remain the same despite all his growth because there’s a certain part of him that is, well, just _him_.

 

“It’s the _curse_ ,” he says. “That’s why my blood is black. That’s why I can turn into a weapon. I don’t know, I just wanted to tell you… I don’t even know. I’m different, and I guess that’s okay. It might sound stupid but I’m tired of feeling down about myself.”  
  
“It’s not stupid, silly. You’re making a lot of sense, struggling with your body image and self worth is a really _human_ thing.”  
  
He’s quiet, then whispers, “Thanks.”  


X

 

Regrets hit him the worst at night.

 

As a child, he'd lay awake tossing and turning because his daily embarrassments wouldn't stop harassing him. His leg transforming on the swing, tripping on stage during his piano recital, _not_ fighting back against his bullies, and not going with Jackie to the infirmary after she was bitten. That's what eats him up the worst. Every bad thing that's happened to him before Shibusen hasn't been his fault. He was a child.

 

But Jackie…

 

She would have seen the snake if he hadn't distracted her… Right? He also could have defended her like he had with Maka, but there were too many people, and he hadn't been quick enough… But then his secret would have been out. And it happened so _fast_.

 

Soul's stomach grumbles, but the ache that follows has nothing to do with hunger.

 

Well, he _tried_ hadn't he? Maybe he hadn't put in enough effort to reach Jackie before it was too late… She had held up her end of the deal to beat him up that day Maka arrived at Shibusen, and she also nursed him back to health. Every time Soul doses off, Jackie pops into his head, retrieving the first aid kit, wiping his face clean of sweat and dirt, extending the fossil-turned-necklace peace offering to him…

 

Ironically, the answer comes to him in a dream: it’s the _necklace_.

 

Startled awake, Soul rolls over and shakes Maka awake, sputtering words he isn’t sure actually form sentences: “It’s the necklace, Maka! The stone fossil thingy Jackie found in the first and made into her necklace… that’s the problem!”

 

She’s half-asleep, wiping drool from the corner of the mouth. “What?”

 

“In my dream,” he says, gathering their things, which aren't many to begin with: their canteens, a few cushions she had taken from the wardens car, his backpack. “I remembered Jackie and me, when we went to the infirmary, she showed me the fossil with the snake on it, and ever since she started wearing it she’s been--”

 

Maka blinks the sleep out of her eyes and props herself up on her elbow. “You fell _asleep_ when you were supposed to be on guard?!”

 

“ _Lord,_ Maka, it’s not always about you. This is about Jackie.” He coughs back a cackle -- hadn't Maka been out here alone, with no one to stand sentry before he arrived? He'll tease her about it later. “Anyway, she had said she found it in the dirt that day -- what if it has something to do with the ghosts?”

 

“...A haunted necklace?” she mumbles, curling up again.

 

“We gotta find Stein. He’ll know _something_.” Soul taps her urgently on the shoulder again, half a mind to carry her if she doesn't get up within the next minute.

 

“No,” Maka repeats, shaking her head. “I’m sorry Soul, I can’t go back there.”

 

“But all you’ve been doing is staying stuck here! Look, maybe -- maybe Stein can drive us to the nearest town or something. He seems to like breaking the rules and getting under the warden’s skin.”

 

Hesitation is quickly becoming one of Maka’s defaults.

 

“Please,” he begs. “Do it for Jackie. She needs us. She needs _me_.”

 

X

 

“ _You’re back you’re back! But you’re not dead,”_ Oni greets him when he and Maka make it into the infirmary hours later, thankfully before dawn. Somehow they had managed to avoid the snakes roaming about, their numbers somehow higher than before he left barely twelve hours before. A few stare at the pair sneaking into the camp, forked tongues flickering out.

 

“Shut up,” he mutters to his demon, taking Maka’s hand so she doesn’t run off. Funny how he used to be the one running away, and now he’s asking people to _stay_.

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Maka insists, her confusion cute. Ugh. When this is all over and done with, Soul is going to have to address this crush thing -- and they need to talk about the kiss thing. _Crap_.

 

“Not you, silly. I’ll explain later.”

 

Oni follows them, his gait more of a series of flinches than an actual walk. “ _The doctor can see me, he sees the snakes too, and the souls. He’s been waiting for you to come back alive but I told him you’ll come back dead, deader than dead! The SNAKES WILL KILL YOU DEAD, THE SNAKES WILL KILL YOU DEAD!”_

The infirmary hall sits more still and dark than usual, the glow of a computer screen the only source of light. The trio find Stein smoking in his office, tightening the screw in his head. “Your little demon talks too much. Don't leave without him next time.”

 

Maka gulps, freezing beside Soul. “Demon?”

 

Stein ignores her, undivided attention on Soul. “The snakes here aren’t normal,” he comments off handedly, tapping the desk with his scalpel. “And the souls aren't either. There are more souls than bodies here in Death City...”

 

Soul and Maka glance at each other, eyes wide.

 

“They're _ghosts_ , can't you see?” Stein spins in a circle, giddy. “Ghosts of Medusa’s victims, here to haunt her great granddaughter Shaula and search for the jar. But it's not theirs. It's mine, now.”

 

Maka's voice comes out a squeak. She grips onto Soul's hand tightly. “J… Jar?”

 

“The jar with Masamune’s corrupt soul, waiting for a new vessel.” The doctor pauses, taking a long drag before lazily opening one of his filing cabinet drawers and pulling out the glowing glass. “You really shouldn't leave important things lying around, Maka.”

 

Her voice is a squeaky, childish whine: “You went through my things!”

 

The accusation is almost laughable to Soul -- he briefly wonders if this is how endearingly ridiculous she acts with her dad, nitpicking on small details instead of focusing on the larger picture. In this case, it's the fact that the jar she dug up not only contained a _soul_ , but that the name Masamune rings a bell. Soul nudges her softly in the rib. “... Maka, isn't that the man from the newspaper that had the same maiden name as your mom?”

 

She's derailed on her rant about respecting others’ property. “Well, _yeah_ , but my mama didn't have a lot of family. She was an only child, and she said her grandmother Tsubaki refused to talk about her family.”

 

At hearing this, Stein grins from ear to ear, his grey toned skin stretched eerily over his sharp features. “Marie will _love_ to hear this. I knew I wasn't crazy. Maybe a lunatic, a little touched in the head, but not _crazy_!”

 

Something like hope lifts Soul's spirits. “So, if you can see souls, does that mean I'm not crazy either? I see Oni all the time--”

 

Hearing his name, Oni plants himself in the corner, his back to them. He rocks back and forth, chewing on his hand, mumbling about snakes and, “ _She is coming, she is heeeere._ ”

 

“No, there's something definitely wrong with you. Having your own personal demon isn’t normal. But…” Stein extinguishes his cigarette on the back of his own hand. “It explains everything. The recent spike in paranormal activity, your obnoxious demon, your black blood. It makes sense. You're _mad_.”

 

“ _No_ ,” Soul defends, subconsciously rubbing Maka's thumb to ground and comfort himself. He's _not_ a freak. “I'm _cursed_. There's a difference.”

 

“ _She's here she's here she's still alive and that's why I am too… I don't want to go home, though, no I DON'T!”_

 

Taking off his glasses to clean them with the hem of his stained lab coat, Stein begins _humming_ , almost as giddy as Oni. “Hmm… Evans, correct? You’re Soul _Evans,_ great grandson of _Wes_ Evans?”

 

The name sounds vaguely familiar, but it’s not like Soul paid attention when his father went on bragging sprees about the money passed down from generation to generation of Evanses.

 

“ _I don’t like Medusa, she isn’t fun to bother like Soul, she’s MEAN--”_

Maka tugs Soul’s hand gently, reminding him of her existence. “Do you hear something coming from the corner? Like, a... voice?

 

“And what are the chances that a Nakatsukasa decedent is here too?” Stein spins in his chair again, giggling. “I _knew_ I wasn’t going mad, I knew something was off about this place the second I set foot here.”

 

The whole situation is a circus: Maka fixated on the corner where Oni is talking to himself, Stein trying his best to convince himself he’s sane, and Soul distantly worrying about his palms being sweaty as he holds hands with this pigtailed firecracker. He needs help. “Listen, Stein, I think I know why Jackie’s been acting so strange. It’s her--”

 

“Necklace, yes. I know.” Stein punctuates this revelation by reaching into his shirt and pulling out the necklace. “I've been wearing it for safekeeping since she was bitten. She was supposed to die, but I did my job too well. Shaula wasn't happy at first, and then she was even more bent out of shape when I told her I don't give a flying fu--”

 

Beside Soul, Maka erupts in a shrill scream, pointing to Oni. “I see it now! It's so creepy and _UGLY!”_

_“I no longer want my master to come back, nooooo no nope, I want Soul to stay with me forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever…”_

 

“You have soul perception, just like me, Maka.”

 

Both Soul and Maka can't help but take a few steps back when Stein rolls over to them, somehow a thousand times more creeped out by him when he's dead serious.

 

“You've been able to sense them for a while, haven't you? The lost ones. The lingering ones.”

 

Always one to take action, Maka puts her foot down both figuratively and literally. She stomps on the floor tiles like a judge bringing down a gavel. “Yes, ahh it all makes sense now! You're right, Dr. Stein, and we have to do something about it! I can't sit by and watch them or Jackie or Soul suffer. We have to break their curses.”

 

“Of course.” Nonchalantly, Stein actually stands up from his chair, cracking his knuckles. “She's almost here anyway.”

 

“ _My master, oh my master, how dark haired you are now, how hateful, how patient!”_ Oni digs the heel of his palms into his eye sockets. “ _Your scythe is waiting, I've been guarding him against my will--”_

She's so quiet Soul doesn't hear her footsteps. The only giveaway to her presence is a shadow falling into the room, the hallway light behind her flickering.

Maka is the first to recover. “Jackie?”

 

But it’s _not_ her, no, the malice in her now yellow snake-like eyes no longer stems from nihilism. It's different, _deeper_ , darker. Her smile lacks the hint of mischievousness Soul is so used to. It’s sickening, terrorizing. She’s more _nimble_ , sprinting faster than humanly possible, overgrown fingernails aimed for his throat.

 

Stein catches her arm before she strikes. “Don't hurt my students.”

 

“I _am_ your student,” not-Jackie sasses.

 

Without hesitance, Stein flips Jackie over into the ground, grabbing a broomstick to use as a weapon. “No, you're the witch Medusa Gorgon. You've finally found a vessel for your soul. Was the fossil not roomy enough anymore?”

 

Oni continues with his mental breakdown in the corner, like none of this is happening. “ _I AM LOYAL TO MY MASTER, BUT SOUL IS ME AND I AM SOUL, WHAT DO I DO?”_

“Soul!” Maka stands on her tippy-toes to whisper in his ear. “Let's get out of here before they notice you're gone. It looks like _you're_ the target!”

 

Leaving Stein behind feels worse than betrayal, but the doctor stepped into the fight of his own volition. Didn't Soul’s parents always tell him that adults know best? He and Maka sneak into the hallway and turn the corner toward the emergency exit when Shaula steps out of the shadows, her eyes glowing a sickening purple and red.

 

“Your time at ‘camp’ is _over_ ,” she cackles, throwing her head back to laugh. The general sound of violence reaches Soul and Maka, Stein’s grunts pierced by glass breaking and furniture being shoved around.

 

Maka let's go of Soul's hand, pushing him behind her. “You'll have to get through me first to get him!”

 

Soul curses, Shaula taking Maka up on the challenge and slapping her once. Though stunned for a second, Maka returns the hit threefold and sends the woman flying into the wall, adding a steel-toed boot kick for good measure. Soul aids in the effort by pushing Shaula down, resorting to using a nearby fire extinguisher to knock her unconscious.

 

Maka shrieks, scolding him for such brute methods.

 

“One and done, _duh_! I like them to go down fast, so sue me!”

 

The newfound, unsettling silence is interrupted by Oni’s cries: “ _I'M CONFLICTED, I WAS BORN TO TORTURE BUT ONCE I FINISH I'LL DIE ALONG WITH SOUL! AND THE SNAKES WILL EAT **ME**!”_

But by the time the pair make their way over to the office again, the fighting is _over._ Jackie is sprawled facedown, unscathed and perfectly still. On the other hand, Stein is a bloody heap on the floor, chest rising and falling with trouble. He raises a hand, weakly tossing two pieces of something to Soul, who feels the raised ridges before he sees them: it's the fossil, now broken.

 

“I'm tired and going to sleep, Marie…”

 

Stein sends them off with a peace sign before passing out.

 

Oni wobbles over, jumping on the doctor like a trampoline. “ _I don't know what to do, should I stay or should I go should I stay or should I go should I stay or should I go should?! I STAY WITH MY MASTER OR SHOULD I GO WITH MY SOUL_?”

 

Footsteps echo toward them, a breathless Marie diving into the room, her copper hair falling out of her bun. One glance at the aftermath and she turns red, her rage unmistakable. “He _promised_ he wouldn't fight the student! I can't believe this! I might as well marry a _toilet_ if he's going to give me all this _crap_!”

 

There's no time to dissect any of this: Jackie being possessed, the witch stuff, Jackie beating up _Stein_ for godsake, and now Soul's favorite adult ever talking about bathrooms. Maybe it's not Shibusen that's insane, maybe it really _is_ him.

 

“ _BUT I'LL BE LONELY EITHER WAY!”_

Heaving one last sigh, Marie begins straightening the overturned bookshelf almost mechanically, muttering about dense men and how she shouldn't have trusted Stein to handle the overnight shift of guarding the jar. She tucks it under her armpit, her attitude now direct and sargent-like.

 

“Soul, give me that fossil and tell your demon to leave Stein alone. Maka, go check on Jackie and move her to the gurney. I think she'll be fine, but I have to burn all of this outside to break the curses...”

 

Now basking in their safety, Maka taps Soul on the shoulder, sympathy playing out on her features. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, at least I have closure that I’m not imagining things.”

 

She tilts her head at Oni, who is now beating his head against the wall. “Does that thing really… is it really your _demon_?”

 

“Yep, my one and only. He’s not very loyal, though.”

 

“ _THE SNAKES! THE SNAKES! WHY DON’T YOU EVER LISTEN, SOUL?”_ Suddenly the imp is tearing his blazer off, dragging his claws over his face. In a flash, he’s climbing Soul, tearing chunks of hair out of his scalp like weeds. “ _SHE LIVES IN THE SNAKES! LONG LIVE MEDUSA!”_

It’s Soul’s turn to beat up Oni. A shudder goes through Soul’s entire being at hearing those words: Medusa lives in the snakes. No wonder the creatures constantly seek out humans, why the fossil was marked by a baby snake. But if that’s all true, and if Oni’s actually a demon sent by her to torture him because of the curse, then…

 

No one is safe yet.

 

The nightmare is _not_ over.

 

Soul clutches Maka’s shoulders, the same thoughts apparently zooming through her mind because she lets out a tiny whimper. “ _MARIE!”_ they shout in unison, taking off to search for her.

 

_“SHE’LL BE DEAD SOON TOO, ALL OF US! BUT I DON'T WANT TO DIE SOUL!”_ Instead of lagging behind them, a surge of determination propels him in front of them to lead the way outside. The trio heads into the campgrounds, passing hole upon hole until Oni skitters to a stop by a rather steep one, pointing with a bony, crooked finger into its depths. “SHE'S _NO LONGER LOST, SHE'S BEEN FOUND! MASTER HAS HER!”_

 

Marie is only recognizable by her hair. Something tame inside him shatters at the sight of a thick, large snake coiled around her legs, tightening. She’s out _cold_ , unaware of Soul jumping in blindly to the rescue.

 

“Let her go, how _dare_ you!”

 

“Soul get out of there! Watch out!” Maka screams, sliding down as the snake _sneers_ at him, fangs out and aiming for his neck. Dodging to the right saves Soul's life, but barely -- a sticky wetness spills down onto his collar. A brief tap reveals inky black. _Black._

 

“ _I DON'T WANT SOUL TO DIE!”_

Maka stares daggers at Oni. _“_ Then _help_ , you puny turd!” When she turns to Soul, her gaze brims with _strengths,_ bravery. “Soul, your scythe! USE IT!”

 

God, how did he do it the other times? It just… happened. Accidentally. Panic sets in, making his stomach queasy, his blood pound in his ears. Is he going to bleed death? He watches Maka try to strangle the snake but all it accomplishes is the snake _laughing_ like it's being tickled.

 

Frustrated, Oni grabs onto Soul's face, looking at him sternly. “ _I DON'T WANT SOUL TO DIE!”_

“I DON'T WANT TO DIE EITHER!”

 

And then he and Oni are _one_. The demon leaps in through Soul's eye. It makes sense -- they're the window to the soul, and that's where the power lays hidden. The world blurs in black and grey shadows, Maka's struggles fading, going away, and a wave if it _sadness_ hits him because he'll miss her. That emotion gives way to an uproar of undiluted _power_ , his whole body contorting, his limbs melting into steel, his very being transformed into the embodiment of destruction.

 

“ _Use me, Maka_!” he finds himself screeching, sounding too much like Oni.

 

Maka Albarn doesn't need to be told twice. She picks up his weapon form like it's meant to be hers, swing it overhead to gather momentum. For a second time the world spins, surreal blues and violets and silver coloring his surroundings before she strikes him down onto the snake's head. It pops off _easily_ , the body disintegrating to dust like a video playing in fast forward. When he tears through the glass jar by Marie’s side, the grey light within turns white and then vanishes in a blink.

 

All that's left is Marie, breathing softly.

 

More pain engulfs Soul, Oni sitting in a red draped room in his mind's eye, waving goodbye.

 

“ _I'm going to be lonely_ ,” are his last words before he falls through the black and white tiled floor and out of Soul's body, probably headed straight to hell.

 

Day breaks. The sun peeks out through angry, dark clouds overhead, thunder clapping in the distance. Soon it'll rain, and he and Maka will have to carry Marie and seek shelter inside. Jackie and Stein will wake up to utter confusion. Shaula will be arrested for assault of two minors, and Stein will claim a coyote attacked him. Each of the campers will submit to new rules set by the new warden: Marie. Once she’s home, Maka might even hug her papa and finally find her mama.

_Maybe_.

 

It's what Soul hopes for, anyway. Wiping at his neck inspires all of these dreams: his blood is _red_. Does this mean… Is the curse _broken?_ What does that even mean? His mind races a million miles a minute until Maka touches his face, wiping his hair out of his eyes. “Are you okay? What are you thinking about?”

 

“I'm going to be lonely,” Soul says wistfully, touching his chest. Oni is gone forever, and Soul will have to go home eventually…

 

“No, you won't, silly. You have me.” Maka laces her fingers between his gently. “You know what? I have a feeling that we're meant to know each other for a long, long time. Is that weird?”

 

“Good,” he says, kissing her on the forehead. “I look forward to it.”

 

Thick raindrops begin to splatter on the dirt around them, darkening the land and Maka's hair. He hugs her tight, ready for the future and even the pain it might bring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! let me know what you think :D


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